


Fingolfin Finds Out

by Findecutie, MayGlenn



Series: Russ and Finno Verse [7]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4575897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findecutie/pseuds/Findecutie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finwë's begetting day celebration is full of surprises and excitement.</p><p>Maedhros and Fingon pull Fingolfin aside as the party begins to give him the news of their betrothal. Though they have more control the situation than when Finwë and Fëanor found out, the discussion soon takes a turn for the worse. Later, an unfortunate accident leaves the royal family terrified, worried, and, in one case, in a great deal of pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Maedhros was nervous, and he sipped the drink Fingon brought him a bit desperately. He didn't voice any of his fears, though, because he knew Fingon would relent. He eyed his uncle across the room. Aunt Anairë, at his side, caught him staring, and raised an eyebrow at him. He looked away.

Fingon made his way back to Maedhros sooner than he had anticipated. “Grandfather is putting away the new tomes in his private rooms-- something about wanting them safe and sorted the way _he_ wishes. The library is empty, and the music is holding everyone’s attention. Shall I ask my father to step away for a few minutes?” He smiled at Maedhros, nervous as his lover was, but wanting desperately to bring a smile to his face. “Also, the Ambarussa are becoming better and better resources of information. I’m not sure if I should be grateful or terrified.”

"I--what?" Maedhros said distractedly. "No, I--I should do it," he said firmly, setting his jaw. He handed his drink to Fingon and stalked across the party, past Celegorm and Curufin dancing, and Aredhel dancing by herself, and Maglor playing an amplified harp, and past three long tables of food and drink. "Nolofinwë," he said, his voice even and formal. "Uncle. Could I speak with you, please? In private?"

Fingolfin raised a brow at his oldest nephew. “So formal, Nelyo?” He waved his hand slightly in acquiescence and with a nod from Anairë and no slight curiosity he allowed Maedhros to lead him from the room. Fingon followed quietly behind them- as Maedhros had been present when both Fëanor and, more intentionally, Nerdanel found out, so he would provide support when his betrothed spoke to Fingolfin.

"Are you going?" Nerdanel whispered to her sister in law, eyeing the retreating men.

Anairë smirked. "And miss this? Where's yours?"

Nerdanel waved a hand. "He's running late--still working on Finwë's gift. I'll speak for him."

"Shall we?" Anairë said, after a reasonable pause, while they could still see the back of Fingon's head, and offered Nerdanel her arm.

"Let's," she agreed, and followed.

Fingon slipped into the library after his father, and shut the door behind them. “Atar,” he said with a nod. He met Maedhros’ gaze for a brief silent conversation. Maedhros had been there for him- he would be here for Russ. Besides that, if he wished to be a treated as an adult who had made his choice of life partner, it would be best he were present for the relevant conversations.

"Now, Nelyo, what's this about?" Fingolfin said, smiling. "Why all the secrecy? We don't want to miss your grandfather's party."

"I know, uncle, and I--we won't keep you long." He turned squarely to face his uncle, straightened his back, and clasped his hands behind him. "Uncle Nolofinwë," he said, reciting the speech he had prepared. "You know that I love you, and all your house as dearly as my own. That you and my atar do not always get along makes me profoundly uncomfortable when it does not make me deeply sad: and I know it is as much his fault as anyone's. What I propose to remedy this is a Union of our houses." He sped up the next part, in case his uncle guessed where this was going. "Healing the rift in the House of Finwë is not my only reason, of course, for you must know that I love your son Findekáno more than I love myself, and more than I have ever loved anyone. You should know that we have been betrothed in chastity for almost nine years, and await such time as Findekáno is of age to cement our bonding." As Fingolfin's eyes flashed, suddenly, Maedhros faltered, and flinched back as Fingolfin advanced. "It is already decided. I have chosen him and he has chosen me, and High King Finwë has given his blessing. We only wish to ask your blessing--n-not your permission."

Fingolfin hesitated at the invocation of his father’s name, then shook his head, unable to believe it. “You would _use_ my child, my _boy_ for a political union?” His eyes flashed. “Who are you to tell me you have claimed a child as your own, to tell me you do not ask my permission? Nelyafinwë Maitimo I _trusted_ you with my _son_! Since he was born have I or mine shown you anything but friendship and kindness?” Fingolfin shook his head. “I will speak to my father of this. For now you will keep away from my son.” He strode towards the door, one hand clasping around Fingon’s wrist and dragging Fingon behind him.

“Atar!” Fingon exclaimed in surprise and pain. He tried to pull his wrist free, body straining back towards his betrothed. “Russ!”

Maedhros flinched, struck physically by his uncle's words. Perhaps he had said it wrong. Of course he had said it wrong. "I _love_ him!" he blurted out, but moved belatedly, and could think of nothing else to add.

“Atar, STOP!” Fingon twisted his wrist and ducked as he pulled back, slipping free of his father’s grasp. He was younger, and smaller, but his father had not spent the past several years sparring and wrestling with Maedhros, Celegorm, Caranthir, and Aredhel. With no knowledge of how he got there, Fingon found himself back across the room in his betrothed’s arms, clinging to him desperately. Logically, he knew his father’s temper would cool, knew that his uncle’s earlier words were accurate--his father dared not go against the combined will of Finwë and Fëanor in this match. And yet the physical act of being forcibly dragged from Maedhros had shaken him in a way nothing else--not even Fëanor’s untimely interruption--had. “Russ,” he whimpered, turning to look at his father.

Maedhros wrapped his arms around Fingon protectively. "I am not taking your son from you," he said, but his voice held not the sternness or the power he hoped it would. He sounded almost pleading. "I am asking you to not withhold the other half of my fëa from me. And you can withhold him, if you wish," he said, and let go of Fingon, all but the lightest touch. "He is not yet of age--hence my request. But if you take him from me now, I do not think you will be able to keep him after."

Fingon shot Maedhros a brief look, then straightened and turned to Fingolfin. “I am neither of yours to keep or take or give up. I am not a possession. I am a grandchild of King Finwë of the Noldor and am bound in his presence and with his approval. I am betrothed will the full knowledge and consent of Crown Prince Curufinwë Fëanáro and am to join his house. And, forgive me Atar, I love you, but should you force me from here I doubt you would have me a week before being forced to let me come and go as I wish--for neither of them will want to see me forced from my other half. And without Russandol… everything fades and it as though a great portion of light has been taken from the world.”

" _Fëanáro_ knows?" Fingolfin cried out, "and he _approves_?" He paced.

Maedhros drew himself in front of Fingon without meaning to.

"Please, uncle, please, I beg you." He drew closer, head bowed. "I spoke rashly before, and unkindly. For all that I could bring grandfather into this, I would for all the world I did not have to. I do not need you blessing, Nolofinwë, but I want it. You know I have always loved him. Please, search your heart, and tell me if in any way you doubt my love for him."

It was difficult to say which of the three was most shocked when Fingolfin backhanded him. Fingon let out a startled gasp. “And will he never dance at a party with the joy of being among Eldar his own age as he searches for one he would love? Will he never get to kiss an Elda and spend time getting to know his partner? He’s never courted, he’s never had that opportunity because you would have taken his heart when he was too young to know _what_ he desired. Valar, Nelyafinwë, children will hero-worship those who take care of them. That doesn’t mean you get to take advantage and steal the emotional and physical affections before they are old enough to knowingly choose!”

“He didn’t,” Fingon choked. “Do you think so little of Maitimo? So little of me?” He stepped forward to stand beside Maedhros, an arm sliding around his waist. “No matter the date of the finding, I have found my other half. And Russandol never suggested or attempted anything inappropriate. What we--” he shook his head. “I have no desire to tell our story if you don’t want to hear it. Please talk to grandfather. And, with all due respect Atar, please consider how he is likely to react if you continue to harm his grandchildren.”

“Nelyafinwë…” Fingolfin ignored Fingon’s outburst for the moment and appealed to Maedhros alone. “Don’t you think my firstborn would be an incredible father?” Fingolfin’s voice quieted as he spoke. Nonetheless Fingon flinched at his line of questioning, leaning more heavily against his lover. “Can you claim to love him and take that opportunity from him forever while he is still but a child?”

The blow stung, and brought tears to Maedhros' eyes that did not immediately leave. It did not hurt, exactly: Fingolfin could have hurt him if he wanted to, but this was meant to insult and to demean. Fingolfin wanted him to start a fight. He did not rise to the bait, but that his uncle listed, categorically, every insecurity he had ever felt about Fingon and their relationship struck him to the core, and he had no answer for him.

When he mentioned children, the tears which had been threatening to fall burst forth in an angry torrent with his words: "I know I can, and I know the pain of it, for I have taken it away from myself as well. Findekáno doesn't even _know_ , but I have spent my _life_ running around after other peoples' children," he let that hang for a moment, almost accusing, before, "and I loved every second. I used to _ache_ for the day when I would have my own: and I would give that up to be with your son, who is my entire happiness and without whom I can take no joy in anything." And he really was going to become violent, so Maedhros turned away, fists clenching.

Fingon glared at his father. He opened his mouth to speak, but finding no words, closed it again. He stepped back, in front of Maedhros who was slightly hunched over, tense and hurt and almost furious. When a touch of his hand failed to move his lover, Fingon dropped to his knees before him, hands wrapping around his cousin’s wrists as he stared up at him. “Russ,” he called softly. “It’s alright, it’s as nothing—“ Fingon was almost crying, though—and in all his life he had never known his father to be so piercingly, intentionally cruel, “please don’t shut me out.” This _hurt_. And bringing up children was…unbecoming of his father. Fingon pressed his face to Maedhros’ thigh, thinking that they had been wrong. They should have bonded without his father present, and spoken to him after, when they could provide a completely united front, with shared thoughts letting them instantly support each other and decide how to respond to such accusations.

“Findekáno!” Fingolfin shouted. “Get off the floor!”

Maedhros shook his head, saying, “Not now, not now,” softly. He met Fingon’s eyes and pulled him to his feet. Giving up on his—lover’s-father, father’s-half-brother—on Fingolfin, he gave Fingon a defeated look. “Do not anger him further,” he whispered, pleading, and voice softer than a whisper, for Fingon’s ears only. “I can wait for you, even if I cannot see you. Will you wait for me?” he asked, taking his hands. Tears hung in his eyes like stars, mirroring Fingon’s.

“Findekáno! Come! Here!”

Maedhros flinched. “Honor your father, but wait for me,” he begged.

Fingon rose further, onto his toes, and pressed their lips softly together, one hand caressing the back of Maedhros’ head for half a precious second. “Tenn’ ambar-metta,” he swore softly. “And further. If need be I will wait for you beyond the end of time itself.” He dropped back to the floor. “I love thee,” he breathed, before the first tear fell. With a last look at his beloved, feasting his eyes for fear of a time without Maedhros, he walked around him towards Fingolfin.

He passed his father without changing his careful, even strides-- everything seemed muted somehow, muffled, but he continued walking- and tears carved a path down his expressionless face, but he held his head high. He would need to find his lord uncle or his grandfather--Finwë would be better, to avoid bloodshed at his grandfather’s celebration. Fingolfin shouldn’t be able to hurt his betrothed--Valar, he shouldn’t even be able to imagine a member of his family trying to hurt another--but he knew Russ well enough to know his cousin would not fight back in his current state. He pulled the door open without stopping, and pulled it closed behind him.

_“Finno?!"_

Anairë and Nerdanel had been reclining on a couch not far from the door to the library. They heard some shouting, of course, but that was to be expected, and had continued happily planning the wedding.

“You sure Nolofinwë will be all right with this?” Nerdanel checked, glancing worriedly at the door, though the thrill of her firstborn’s marriage did much to ease her potential fears.

Anairë waved dismissively. She was very petite and very beautiful (she made Nerdanel feel awkward and ugly, sometimes), and quietly strong, all her movements were graceful but precise: “We are hardly waiting on his word, are we? Judging by what Findekáno told me, they would go through with it even if no one approved.” She shrugged. “I think we might dress them in white and gold. They both look fine in those colors,” she said, picking up from their previous conversation.  “And Finwë’s kitchens could handle the catering well enough, I think. I have a baker we can go to for the cake.”

"The cake, or several?" Nerdanel asked. “I didn't find out how large the celebration will be-- certainly all of the close family-- well, all of Finwë's descendants. They don't have too many close friends outside the family, but will Ingwë and Olwë be invited? And members of the court?" She sighed, shaking her head. "Perhaps we'd best not; we could plan a second celebration later to cater to the political aspects of this family."

“I get the impression they want something small—but I could see the benefit of a larger political—”

And it was at that moment that Fingon emerged from the library, his face tear-stained and fists clenched.

“Finno!” she cried, rushing to him.

“Findekáno, get back here!” came Fingolfin’s shout from within, and soon, he emerged. Anairë almost didn’t recognize her husband’s voice.

Fingon halted as his mother quickly rushed in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. With difficulty, he swallowed, and turned to his aunt, speaking quickly. “Could you please locate grandfather or my lord uncle and bring them to the library? Preferably grandfather. He was heading to his private quarters to put some gifts away. And please hurry; I-I--” he didn’t want to say the next words. He couldn’t avoid them. “I do not trust what Nolofinwë may do to my betrothed.”

Nerdanel’s eyes widened, and Anairë inhaled sharply, hand moving to cover her mouth. Nerdanel shook her head lightly at her sister-in-law, not believing there was any true danger. She squeezed Fingon's arm supportively and left, walking quickly towards the family quarters as Fingolfin continued to shout.

As if deciding something very suddenly, Anairë drew herself up to her full (if not impressive) height. "Findekáno," she said calmly and sweetly (but in a voice that Fingon recognized would not be gainsaid), "go sit on the bench there and wait for me." Not looking to see if her son obeyed her, she swept into the room, just in time to see Fingolfin lean into his nephew, teeth clenched, and finish what must have been a threat of some sort.

It could not be borne.

"Nolofinwë Finwion!" she shouted, and he turned on her--Maedhros sagged in visible relief--but she did not even flinch. "If you would kindly stop making an embarrassment of yourself," she said, returning to her calm and reasonable voice (Maedhros wasn't sure he'd ever heard her use any other tone), and turning to Maedhros: "Nelyafinwë, I want you to leave and go sit out in the hall with Findeká--"

"I don't want him anywhere near my son!" Fingolfin practically shrieked, but before he could move, she was in at his side and laying a hand on his arm, stilling him with a touch.

"I wish to speak to you, venno," she all but growled, and waved Maedhros out of the room. "And I want our son to be with his betrothed right now."

"You knew about this?" he accused, not bothering to wait until Maedhros had left.

"Of course I knew," she snapped. "The only thing more appalling than your behavior right now is that you find this in the least bit surprising."

"No son of mine will--"

"Son of _ours_ ," she corrected with a snarl.

Outside, as if the situation could become no more precarious, Fëanor entered, carrying with him a large package. Seeing the hall empty of all but Fingon, who sat on a bench: "Hullo, Finno!" he said cheerfully. "Where's the party at? You saved some food for me, right?" He set the package down on the bench beside his nephew, and for the first time got a good look at him. His brow creased. "Finno, what's--?"

Fingon stood and stepped into Fëanor’s open arms, pressing against his immovable frame. “Uncle,” he whispered, pressing his head against Fëanor’s chest. Fëanor held his nephew for a minute, and then pulled back, wiping at Fingon’s watery face.

“Valar, Findekáno. What happened?” His eyes widened a fraction in realization. “Did you tell….” Fëanor trailed off, and the hand on his shoulder squeezed tightly.

“He was so angry.” Fingon looked at the wall, unable to meet Fëanor’s gaze. “He said--horrible things--hurt Russ, grabbed me…” Fëanor drew him close again, resting his head atop Fingon’s.

"He _what_?" Fëanor said, and though he was still only talking, his voice was loud and echoed.

Maedhros, who appeared at the door, flinched back and blanched: he could go back no more than he could go forward, because if his father saw him like this, there was no way this would end without more blows being exchanged.

"Nelyafinwë," Fëanor breathed, as Maedhros hesitated, crushed between the shouting behind him and the fear of letting his father see where, now all the more prominent because his face had gone pale, there was a red bruise high on his cheekbone from his uncle's temper. "Nelyafinwë, come _here_ ," Fëanor said, stern but not ungentle, and, keeping one arm around Fingon he held the other out to his son.

Maedhros fell into his arms. "I'm sorry, atar, it was my fault," he blurted out. "I was haughty and unkind. I goaded him into this, please don't--"

“It wasn’t your fault,” Fingon interrupted. “You spoke the truth, and what he said to us… I can’t even… I’m so sorry Russ. He was wrong. He was so wrong.” Fingon shifted slightly in Fëanor’s grasp, wrapping himself around Maedhros as well. “You are my everything,” he murmured, pressing against Maedhros.

“Nelyo,” Fëanor hesitated for a moment, then used Fingon’s epessë, “Finno.” He kept his voice calm, doing his best to hide his growing fury. “I know you are both hurting, but I need you to tell specifically what happened to you. I promise you are safe, and you are together, and I will not let anyone separate you or stop your bonding.”

Maedhros reached out to cling to Fingon, though he was afraid to, worried in case his uncle came out into the hall. He shook his head, trying to will back the tears and the irrational panic. "I--I know," he said. "I'm all right. He was angry, and I don't blame him. We--I--I went into the situation telling instead of asking, and he--well--it's no wonder--I should apologize--" he mumbled, pulling back, but Fëanor held him firmly, because at that moment the door slammed open and Fingolfin emerged, and whatever Anairë had said to calm him changed when he saw his firstborn seeking comfort in the arms of not only Maedhros but Fëanor.

"Curufinwë!" he bellowed.

Fingon cringed and Maedhros flinched. Then they were both pushed backward by Fëanor as he stepped in front of them, shielding them. Anairë began moving forward to grab her husband, but before she reached him Fëanor began speaking. “Nolofinwë, ata’s favorite bastard child. A lesser prince of a lesser bloodline.” Fingon’s wide eyes met Maedhros’.  “You harmed my children. You grabbed my child to drag him away and you hit my son.” Fëanor’s calm fury had given way to something fiery, something that burned, and he stood as an immovable thing fully ready and willing to destroy Fingolfin if he moved any closer to _his_ children.

 _Valar_ , Fingon mouthed.

"Atar, stop," Maedhros said, stepping forward, speaking past him to Fingolfin. "Nolofinwë--uncle, please--don't--he doesn't mean--and I'm sorry for what I--"

"Well if we're just here to name-call," Fingolfin responded, ignoring Maedhros, "I think it's hardly my fault Atar wasn't content with you and wanted to re-marrry."

"Nolofinwë!" Anairë gasped. "Fëanáro, please, he's in a mood--don't--"

"Atar, please," Maedhros said, grabbing his father's shoulder, "let's talk about this _civilly_."

"Let go of me, son!"

"I won't!"

Fëanor was already seeing red, as Fingolfin knew just what buttons to push until suddenly this wasn't about Fingon and Maedhros anymore, and he wheeled back at his son, shaking his arm roughly and murder in his eyes.

Maedhros didn't flinch back, but neither did he let go. "What, are _you_ going to hit me, too?" he asked.

Fëanor did not freeze, exactly, but he suddenly stopped, finding another way to _win_. He let his arm drop. “Of course not. Finno, you should learn that not all parents lash out at their children when they are upset,” he added with a glance back. “Some of us actually care about our offspring and want them to be healthy and happy and to lead fulfilling lives. Striking one’s child is something to be expected of Melkor’s followers from the days of the dark rider. Not something that should ever occur here. It shows … abhorrence toward Iluvatar and points to deep internal flaws. My condolences, Findekáno.”

" _Atar_ ," Maedhros huffed in exasperation. "Stop it!"

"Don't worry, Nelyo, we both know Curufinwë has not the courage to say something like that to my face," Fingolfin said, rather lamely, Maedhros thought, as insults went, but Fëanor lurched forward, free of his grip and "NO!" Maedhros cried as Fëanor charged across the hall and tackled his brother.

“WHAT is going on?” Everyone stopped momentarily as Finwë and Nerdanel entered the hall.

“ _Curufinwë_ ,” Nerdanel said in exasperation, pulling her husband off of his brother. Fëanor glared at her, while Fingolfin scrambled to his feet, moving to stand with his wife.

“He hit our _son_ ,” Fëanor muttered through gritted teeth. “And he assaulted our other son. His usual insults are enough to warrant a sound beating from the fair person who finds himself on the other end of them. But for the most part I have held back, or responded with words. But when he goes so far as to leave marks on my children…” Fëanor glowered. Finwë looked beyond his children and their wives to where his grandchildren stood, leaning against each other. Fingon, tear tracks still visible on his cheeks had a hand distractedly rubbing his wrist, while a bruise could be seen forming across Maedhros’ face.

"Atar," Fingolfin protested. "Nelyafinwë and Findekáno--you _can't_ approve of such a--they are _stealing my son_!"

"Silence, all of you," Finwë said, and, bewildered, took a moment to process the scene. Luckily, no one else spoke. Finally, once he ordered his thoughts: "Nelyo, I thought I told you to _wait_ for me."

Maedhros hung his head even further, practically folding over by this point. "I'm sorry I spoilt your begetting-day," he managed.

"Nonsense, Nelyo," he said, "come here. You, too, Finno." He put a hand on each of their shoulders.

"It's my fault, grandfather. I owe Uncle an apology. My words were careless and unkind, though their matter remains true." He glanced sidelong at Fingolfin, who was still silently fuming.

"Nerdanel, could I ask you to take Curufinwë from the room if he says another word?" Finwë said, anticipating, and Nerdanel almost laughed as she nodded. "Well, Nolofinwë. Can you explain this for me?" he said, turning to his second born.

“Findekáno is not of age,” Fingolfin said, calming slightly. “He is barely of an age to start courting, to start looking for a dance partner and eventually a life partner. Instead his teacher, his many times guardian has him besotted. He has lost much of his life-- he is not yet old enough to decide if he might one day want children and that path will forever be denied him. Surely he has never even kissed another-- only his cousin who he approached with a case of hero-worship and now may be bound to for the rest of his days.” He shook his head. “He should be meeting young Elves, partying, taking long walks as they get to know one another. Not planning a premature marriage to someone many years his senior. This is not right. A hidden betrothal, and who knows what he has been talked into while under age-- I’m sorry, and I do not necessarily imply that Nelyafinwë intended to hurt him, but the fact remains that he is by our customs too young to make an informed decision. And it is my job to protect him from those who would use him for their own ends.”

"Well, it was not a secret, Nolo," Finwë said gently. "I approved of it even eight years ago, when Findekáno was even _younger_ , and they have kept their betrothal all these years, and without fully bonding, in accordance with our customs and for the purpose of Findekáno reaching the age of majority and, Nolo, I think this is important, the age where he can legally make decisions for himself and over which you have precisely zero say. And furthermore, why can best friends not also be lovers? Does that not befit them to be life partners, more than someone met at a party rife with drunken revelry and admired only for superficial reasons? I do not think you _really_ approve of how your youngest and Fëanáro's Tyelko go about their, ah, experimentations, certainly not compared to what has happened here. As for children--" here he eyed Fëanor and Fingolfin equally. "You both seem to think rather highly of yourselves if you believe the entire purpose of love, marriage, and sex, is to produce offspring. That's not a kind way to think of your mothers-- _either_ of you," he said, sensing that this was in part related to the usual argument.

“Eight years?” Fingolfin asked quietly. “Atar, why? And why wasn’t I told?”

Fingon took a deep, steadying breath and stood straighter. “Because I didn’t want to tell you.”

Fingolfin spun around, though Anairë put a calming hand on his arm.

“I didn’t-- Valar, Atar, I wanted to believe that you would be supportive-- some day, some day when Russ and I are very far away ask grandfather how he found out. And if you cannot handle that please don’t inquire the same of my lord uncle.” He seemed to shrug without moving his shoulders. Fingolfin clenched his fist, and forcibly calmed himself.

“Who knows?”

“Irissë, all of Russ’ brothers, and I think Ingoldo might now.” Fingon raised a brow at Maedhros, curious if he had gotten the same impression the last time Finrod was with them.

Maedhros shrugged forlornly. "The only ones _we_ told were Amil and Auntie Anairë," he said. "The rest were--accidental. We hoped to honor you, my lord, by _telling_ you, rather than letting you find out on accident. I think you know now why we waited so long," he said, sadly, and with no little bitterness.

Fingolfin wiped a hand across his face. “He’s my baby boy. And now I find that I’ve completely missed his youth, his young adulthood. One minute you were helping him up onto a horse because he so wanted to ride… and now I’m _informed_ that he is to be married. I wasn’t even asked about the betrothal-- I’m just told a few months before the full bonding.” He sighed. “I need time to think. I need time to discuss this with my wife. Can we meet again later to discuss this--both of you, Anairë, me?”

“Can grandfather be there?” Fingon asked hesitantly. His father nodded once.

Maedhros nodded, head yet bowed. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, uncle," he murmured, chastened. "My heart spoke its desire selfishly. However I might make amends to you, you need only name. I do desire your blessing for us, no matter my words earlier."

“No you--” were right, but the last words went unsaid. Could not be said with Fëanor looking on smugly. Fingolfin sighed. “We will talk later, Nelyo.”

“This evening,” Finwë stipulated. Then he half smiled. “If you all insist on ruining the mood of my party the least you can do is finish clearing the air so that no one goes to bed angry.” He sighed. “And you can all have plenty of cake and you little miscreants, no getting plastered before you talk. That may have worked with my firstborn but I believe it would be rather counterproductive in this instance.” Fingolfin glanced at Fëanor, Maedhros, and Fingon. Fingon looked slightly sheepish and both the boys were… blushing? Fëanor looked even more pleased with himself, perhaps at having knowledge Fingolfin did not, and perhaps at the memories of… whatever Finwë was alluding to.

Maedhros shook his head faintly. He felt ill. "I'll just--I'll just be here," he said, sitting on the bench and desperately wanting everyone to just go away.

Fëanor looked sadly at his son, glared at his brother, but raised his hands placatingly and managed not to say a word. Instead he bent to pluck up his gift from the bench beside Maedhros, kiss his son on the head, and left the hall with Nerdanel.

"We should talk _now_ , Nolo," Anairë said quietly.

Fingon looked to Finwë for guidance, and at his nod of permission sank down on the bench next to Maedhros, leaning against him with his head tilted down. He let his eyes slide shut, and just breathed softly. “I suppose I’ll just say we were in my rooms for a few minutes- we can excuse my absence as a result of being eccentric and getting lost in a new book.” Finwë followed after Fingolfin and Anairë, slipping into the library quietly.

Maedhros nodded slightly, and Fingon turned, laying his face against his cousin’s neck. Their heartbeats aligned, and he linked their fingers together, squeezing Maedhros’ broad hand.

"I'm sorry, Finno," Maedhros said softly, once Fingolfin and Anairë retreated again to the library and they were left alone. His breath hitched. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I--I said it all wrong. Your atar is right, I don't deserve you."

“Russ-- no!” Fingon jerked his head back. “That’s not… Russ that’s not true. And he wasn’t going to listen.” Fingon shook his head. “It didn’t matter what you said, he wasn’t going to listen. Valar, Russ- if anything you should hate me. The things he said-- it was cruel, it was wrong.” His hand tightened on Maedhros. “I love you. And I want this. And I know what I’m doing. And I’m so sorry Russ-- he hit you. He said… horrible things and I can’t-- it wasn’t your fault. It _hurt_.”

Maedhros looked at Fingon for the first time, and with a worried glance at the library, put an arm around him. "It's certainly _not_ your fault. He didn't hurt me, not physically, and he was angry, so I don't blame him. Neither should you." He was silent for a moment. "We probably should have talked about children a long time ago," he said finally.

Fingon pulled back and seemed to shrug without moving his shoulders. “What is there to say Russandol?” He asked quietly. “I love spending time with the Ambarussa, or Ingoldo or Aikanaro or Artanis. I enjoy care of them. I adore children, and a part of me years for children of our own. But even if we were separated I would not have any. You are my other half; I could never be with another.” He leaned his head back on Maedhros’ shoulder. “What do you want to say about children?”

"I'm not sure," Maedhros breathed carefully. "Only, you're right, there's not much to say, so we haven't said anything. I suppose something should have been said. I think Grandfather is right, of course: you marry for love. And I love you. But it would be unfair to you to not say that I am sad we could never have children of our own. But we make good brothers and cousins and uncles, so..." he trailed off, shrugging.

“We will be the favorite uncles,” Fingon promised. “And if your line continues to be so… prolific… I’m sure your brothers will be happy to let us borrow children to our hearts’ content.” He smiled lopsidedly. “We shall be together, and all will be well. Russ, I-- when he started to drag me away…” Fingon stopped, blinking. “I know you would wait for me. I know it, but I was so scared. I couldn’t--I just--” Fingon shook his head. “Kiss me? I beg thee.”

Maedhros shook his head with fear, remembering the blow that passed between them. "I don't want--if your father-- _please_ \--" he sighed, settling for hugging Fingon. "We _can_ wait, as your father wishes, if he wishes. I love _him_ too much to defy him more than I already have."

Fingon tucked himself close to his cousin, shifting his feet up onto the bench and looking at his knees. It would be fine. He could do this, of course. Shortly before he had kissed Maedhros for what looked to be the last time for a week or, if his father had his way, several months. Still, he realized, he wanted—needed--physical comfort far more than his cousin did. He bowed his head, considering that this was the third time he had ever begged something of Maedhros. And a single chaste kiss--that was the plea that was refused.

"I _will_ kiss you," Maedhros quickly corrected, "only--I can't now, Fin. I am afraid, please," he begged in his turn. He cupped Fingon's chin. "Will you wait for me?"

Fingon huffed softly. “Not an hour back did I not tell you that I would wait beyond the world’s ending, even beyond the end of time itself, if that is what is required of me to be with you? Forever, Russ. I am yours as you are mine.”

"I love you, Finno. Tenn' ambar-metta," he whispered, just as the door opened. He dropped his arms from around Fingon and stood up, but it was only Anairë, smiling disarmingly. "Finno, Nelyo? Could we speak to you now?"

They followed after her quietly, again shutting the library door behind them. Fingolfin stood in front of the fireplace pacing, and Anairë led them to the small sofas before it. He moved to join his wife, and the group sat. Fingolfin glanced at Maedhros and Fingon, and at the half foot of bare couch separating them. “I hear that my firstborn is betrothed.” Fingon tensed slightly. “I suppose congratulations are in order?”

Maedhros tried to make himself as small as possible, but he looked up briefly, startled at Fingolfin's change, and turned to his aunt for confirmation.

She nodded reassuringly.

If they were doing this over: "O-only with your permission and blessing, my lord uncle," Maedhros said.

Fingon gave his love a sideways look, thoroughly irritated, but he kept his expression carefully neutral and his body in a relaxed sprawl-- a trick Celegorm had taught him for when he did not want to reveal his emotions. Finwë made a prompting noise and then Fingolfin spoke.

“I would not seek to separate a pair who love one another so dearly. And I am certainly not brave enough to destroy a match between your grandfather’s two favorites,” he added, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

Maedhros smiled slightly, looking gratefully to Finwë. "Thank you," he said quietly, and swallowed, and reached his hand out to brush against Fingon's, closing the gap between them slightly. His body was still tight.

Finwë and Anairë both looked at Fingolfin, and he sighed. “Nelyo, I apologize for my behavior earlier. I had concerns, but should not have addressed them as I did, especially after you told me that your grandfather knew and approved. And no matter the circumstances I should not have struck you.” Fingon flinched at the reminder. “You have always cared for Findekáno, and I trust you will continue to do so. Please understand that your news was highly unexpected for me, and that when I lashed out it was from a desire to protect my son from what first saw as a threat.” He stopped, and was silent. Anairë shifted closer to him.

Maedhros lifted his head. "How can I blame you for wanting to protect Findekáno?" He looked sidelong at Fingon: "I think he'll be the first to tell both of us he doesn't us protecting him any more than he wants us fighting over him. But I think the point is that we both--we all, in this room--want the same thing, and that's Findekáno's happiness and wellbeing. If you trust me with that you do me the greatest honor I will ever earn, and you at the same time ensure my own happiness and wellbeing, for so my life will be, seeking his." He gulped, dropped his head again, reclaimed his hand and folded them in his lap. "I am sorry again for the manner of my initial presentation. It was entirely without due reverence, and without enough of the love I bear you."

Fingolfin looked pained and waved aside the apology. “Enough. If your behavior was without reverence mine was without any respect whatsoever. Stop apologizing and have done. I believe your mothers have planned half your wedding if you wish to discuss it with them. Otherwise speak whatever else you need say, and we shall go and mingle and appear merry for the rest of the evening.”

“Thank you,” Fingon said.

“I had your things moved to your usual room,” Finwë told them with a small smile. Fingon blushed lightly.

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

“Just don’t make me deal with any 'drowned kittens,' particularly when we’re busy with so many guests.”

Maedhros' eyes shot to his grandfather, and he flushed brightly. "I--thank--you? We should return to the party," he added quickly, and stood. "I think--I suppose details will be worked out as we go. We have many months yet until Findekáno's begetting day."

“Then I suppose we had best.” Finwë stood, and the rest followed suit. “Now, I believe I saw Curufinwë carrying a large parcel that was intended for me.” With that, he wandered out, though he sent a last fond gaze towards his grandchildren. The others followed quickly, and dispersed among their cousins and relations in the main areas of the house.

Maedhros managed the rest of the party with a smile, though his shoulders remained tight and sudden movements grated on his nerves. He liked having Fingon close, and not having him near also made him nervous. All he could think about was the kiss he owed him. The lie about what had happened to his face was different every time.

Also, Fingon was getting drunk. Fëanor seemed to find this especially amusing, so when Fingon fell into the table that housed the rest of the birthday cake, Finwë, laughing, told him he ought to take Fingon to bed.

Maedhros complied with joy, only to find out, once they were alone, that Fingon wasn't drunk, after all.

"We just needed to be alone," he said.

Maedhros kissed him, suddenly, at first chaste, then passionately. "I'm sorry you had to wait for that," he said. The tears were back, and he had no reason to keep them back.

Fingon cupped Maedhros’ face and gently brushed away his cousin’s tears with his thumbs. “Rus…” he closed his eyes briefly. “We should talk, first. I--” he hesitated. “I am so, so sorry for what my father did.” He ran his hand along Maedhros’ face where Fingolfin had slapped him. “That should never have occurred. But, Rus… this has been a horrible evening. Much worse than when uncle found out. Just--” he shifted and hugged himself with his arms as he looked across the room. “Please don’t do that to me again. Please don’t treat me like that.”

Maedhros deflated, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't--I don't even know what I did, I did everything wrong tonight. Tell me, please," he demanded. The tears had stopped flowing, as if he had a saturation point for feeling stupid and he had reached it.

“I’m not angry, exactly, Russ. Just… hurt?” Fingon sighed. “'Only with your permission and blessing my lord uncle.’ Those were your words. And if my father never came around, but we still had grandfather’s approval, and your father’s, and our mothers’, would you have broken our betrothal and left me? I know you wished to… to please him after how he acted before. But there is a different between being respectful towards him and disrespecting our betrothal. Your words the first time were true, if slightly blunt. I wish with my entire being that you did not mean the words you spoke the second time.” Fingon shrugged.

"I--" Maedhros fell against the wall, pulling Fingon with him. "They weren't. They were a lie, a bluff I hoped your father wouldn't call. Which I know is not much better. But I have already promised _you_ that no power in the world could keep me from you while you wanted me. Please do not doubt that--whatever my words when I was emotionally compromised and confused and troubled and--and being diplomatic." He pressed his brow against Fingon's. "I hate it. I hate myself." This last was a whisper, barely heard.

Fingon pressed against Maedhros, who stood against the wall, threading his arms around his cousin’s neck. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, please don’t. Hate me if you must, but never yourself. You are wonderful, and incredible, and beautiful and strong. And I am the luckiest Elda in existence because I am with you. Please don’t hate that which I hold dearer than life and limb.” He rocked Maedhros slightly, ignoring how awkward they would look to an observer, with him several inches shorter than Maedhros and far slimmer. “Please don’t. It’s over, and everything is well, and we are to be married. I love you Russandol. I love you.” He kissed Maedhros and laughed. “You can’t even let me be mad at you, can you? See- I came in here upset over a few things and now all I wish is to see you smile and to know that you are at peace and content.”

Maedhros huffed. "This should feel better: that we are to be married. Maybe it will, when I stop feeling--wrong. Sorry, I'm sorry," he said, hugging Fingon and pressing his face against his neck. "I love you. You can be mad at me. But later. I'm sorry I'm not very brave tonight." He left a few tears in Fingon's hair, but also a kiss.

“Oh, Russ.” Fingon stroked the back of his neck and held him. “Shall we climb into bed? I would hold you, or you can hold me-- only we would need to sit or lay for the first. You’re too tall, arimelda. I like it, of course.”

Maedhros nodded, managed a smile, even, and let Fingon pull him to bed. He was still, for some foolish reason he didn't understand, battling to hold back tears. He wanted--he just wanted Fingon. He toed off his boots and tore the copper circlet from his hair and threw it to the ground. He touched his cheek, which hurt, and bit his lip to keep from crying, and reached out for Fingon. "Let me hold you, please," he begged.

“Of course,” Fingon murmured, shifting into his arms. “Anything, always. You know that, arimelda.” Fingon was still disgruntled by the evening’s events-- by everyone except Finwë discussing him as though he were an idiot and a possession, by Maedhros refusing him the smallest kiss, by his father’s abhorrent behavior and the way it hurt Maedhros. But those things would wait. The paled in comparison to a Maedhros who was almost in tears and was reaching out for him.

Fingon relaxed in his cousin’s tight embrace while they lay on top of the bed fully clothed. “I love you,” he whispered. “Forever. And I would wait for you forever. And if you are taken from me I shall follow. If you no longer want this, still I will be by your side however you will have me.” He tucked himself closer to his lover. “I have never regretted and will never regret loving you. I am yours, body mind and soul. As you honor and trust grandfather, believe that I know what I want and that I am responsible enough to decide for myself. You are the best part of my life Russandol.” Fingon continued speaking quiet endearments and promises as they clung together, Maedhros rocking them slightly. And Fingon found his own eyes blinking and found that he was both tired and stressed from the day. In a few minutes they would need to change and get ready for bed, but for the moment all was well.

"I know, I know," Maedhros said, and a sob escaped. "on top of everything I treated you appallingly in my attempts to appease your father, and that's no excuse. I--I know you are an adult, I have needed you as one for many years, and what I said and implied was--wrong--and--and they--fought," he choked, struggling to speak through his emotion, "everyone fought because of me and my--and I'm supposed to be the peacekeeper and the diplomat because if I can't keep this stupid family together no one will!" And now he was angry-crying, and that was just pathetic. He buried his face against Fingon' s chest. "Your atar's concerns were once my concerns, so I felt them keenly, and I do not blame him though now I know better and should have answered him better, rather than with--fear and supplication." Fingolfin must have hit him harder than he thought, and it must have affected him more than he first assumed. "You must know I did not mean most of what I said to him, which I know is worse, and I'm sorry. I failed you and _us_ in every possible way, and I am so sorry. D-don't be angry with me now, please," he added, suddenly, "I couldn't bear it."

“You didn’t fail me. Russ, you _couldn’t_ fail me.” Fingon leaned over to brush his lips over the light bruise on Maedhros’ cheek. “You are here and we are together and I am in your arms. That is hardly failing.” They were quiet for a time. “I am sorry for my father. And perhaps it speaks more of my own fears… but I do not like it when you begin to doubt our being together. My father was doing enough of that. And I’m sorry you fear--I wish I knew how to let you put your unease to rest. I’m sure we will do so after we bond but for now… I love you, Russandol. Please remember that.”

Fingon squeezed his cousin for a moment. Then he pulled back and punched him, not entirely gently. Maedhros stared at him. “I’m impressed, Nelyafinwë. Uncle has never been accused of.. ah, undue humility, but not even your father believes himself to be the center of the entire world.” Fingon sighed. “Finwë is responsible for keeping this family together. As are all of its members, not you alone. Even if it were appointed your task I would hope you would share it with me, would let us work on it together and share in both successes and failures as partners. And, Russ?” Fingon kept a gentle hand on his side, but continued with an issue that was more trouble to him. “I am not a possession.” Maedhros looked puzzled by the statement. “Except for grandfather everyone seemed to be acting like I was a _thing_ to be fought over. I’m not. Our fathers did not fight because of ‘you’ and ‘your’- they fought because of _us_ because of _our_ wishes and _our_ betrothal and, in your father’s case, because someone dared raise a hand against his sons.” Fingon sounded slightly wondering at the end, and gave Maedhros a small smile. “Your father called me his son.”

“I—I know you’re not a possession, Finno,” Maedhros said, rubbing his arm where Fingon had hit him. “I know. I was—f-frightened, and not thinking clearly. I didn’t mean it, I swear, I—you are no more mine than I am yours, and you must know my fear was as much being without you to have and hold as it was that I would no longer belong to you.” He sniffed. “And—and I—I don’t like it when they fight,” he said, not agreeing that he wasn’t the family peacekeeper, but not wanting to disagree, either. “I love them both and even if you’re angry at Nolofinwë, I am not, and I don’t blame him for being worried for your safety and wellbeing because I am always concerned with this myself. And my atar wasn’t much better. Do you know what your father said to me? He said he wished I had been his older brother instead of Fëanáro. He said that to me. So I feel _awful_ when they hurt each other, especially when I might have prevented it.” He was in full tears now. “We,” he corrected, somewhat begrudgingly. “But you didn’t anger him in the first place. And atar attacked him because he hit _me_. It’s my fault,” he protested, curling in on himself in case he made Fingon angry again.

“Russ.” Fingon’s voice was pained and he hated himself as he watched Maedhros shift away from him. “Here, Russ. I’ve got you. Roll a little for me? Mhmm. A little more?” When his lover was facing away from him on his side Fingon curled himself behind him, holding Maedhros to him with a hand across his middle and a leg thrown protectively across his cousin’s. “Tyë-melin. Tyë-melin tenn’ ambar-metta, Russandol.” He tucked his face against the back of Maedhros’ neck and breathed.

“And it wasn’t your fault. I know my father, and I knew- though I didn’t want to admit it--that I had reason to be wary of this discussion. And no matter what you said- Russ, how would you react if I got in an argument with someone and they backhanded me? It was--there is no defense for what he did. As for what he told you about being his older brother… I want to believe it was a kindness, but at the moment I’m angry with him and inclined to believe that, while true, it was intended as a barb thrown at uncle. You are a wonderful older brother, of course. Your brothers are blessed to have you. As for your father, he was… well, he was Fëanáro, but… this time he was defending me. I worry what it makes me that part of me took pleasure in that fact.” He nuzzled against Maedhros. “But… say what else you feel should be said, and then perhaps we can set this aside for the evening?” The question was posed tentatively. “You said that you didn’t want us to be angry tonight. That you didn’t want to be brave. So just… let me hold you? And in a few minutes we can get ready for bed. And then I can hold you again or let you can hold me.”

Maedhros settled, his chest rattling, but otherwise calming. “I don’t want to say anything else,” he said, sounding deeply petulant, and not caring. “Everything I say is wrong. I just—I love you. Tyë-melin,” he whispered, holding Fingon’s arm which was wrapped around him. “I would like to hear you talk,” he decided after a minute. “I would like to know if I said anything else amiss to you, that I might apologize.”

Fingon shook his head, nestling against Maedhros and saying nothing. He would never agree that Maedhros’ actions merited his father’s reaction, but he had no desire to argue or to upset his lover further. Instead he took careful, steady breaths and tried to focus on the feeling of Maedhros in front of him and with him and safe. A few second thoughts about taking Finwë’s advice of talking everything out before bed passed through his mind, but he let them go and tried not to think of anything at all.

Maedhros calmed further, concentrating on matching his breathing to Fingon's against his back. "Won't you talk to me?" he said after a moment, quietly. "I can--we should talk."

Fingon flinched slightly, but squeezed Maedhros tighter immediately afterwards. “Don’t want to fight,” he muttered. “And I never want to hurt you. I don’t like it when we argue.”

Maedhros nodded, stilled, and then turned in Fingon's arms to face him. His eyes were dry now. "I do not want to fight, either, love. I will not. I will defer to you, but I would hear you speak. Please?"

“Don’t want you submissive or instantly deferring, Russ.” Fingon rolled his eyes. “I love _you_ and I want _you_ , even if aren’t agreeing on an issue. I… what would you have me say, beloved?” He asked with a sigh. “I am so hurt and insulted by my father I can barely think on it. I should be insulted by your father’s behavior but part of me is too grateful to him. And he was… when I left the library the first time he was so _good_ to me Russ. He was looking for grandfather and as soon as he saw something was wrong he just… put down his gift and opened his arms and held me.” He paused, tapping his fingers up and down Maedhros’ side.

Maedhros was quiet and let him pull his thoughts together.

“I hated how I was ignored and how instead of us standing together it was you standing alone with a target on you. And I was scared when you looked like you were _listening_ to what my father was spewing. I shouldn’t be- I know what we’ve promised each other. But I was suddenly very scared as well as very hurt. And for parts of the evening I just felt numb. It wasn’t a good feeling.”

Maedhros nodded. "I--I'm sorry. I should not have given you cause to doubt. I should not have--doubted--your father and I think a lot alike. When he spoke, I remembered my fears in the beginning. I did not believe them, for you have sine laid them to rest, but I was weak, and afraid." He touched his cheek. "I am glad my father was good to you. He really does see you as a son, and that is good." He sighed heavily. "And I was wrong to ignore you, and put myself alone on the target, as you say. I thought to protect you. But you were hurt, too, after all."

“And hurt more,” Fingon added softly but earnestly. “It is fine, it’s over.” He pressed closer to Maedhros. “Just please don’t do that to me again. I am yours as you are mine, Russ.” He touched his forehead to his cousin’s. “One last thing- I wasn’t trying to cause more trouble with my father when I begged a kiss of thee. I know my parents well enough to know we had a while yet before they came out for us.” He gave Maedhros a lopsided grin and shrugged. “Kiss me?” he asked.

Maedhros obliged immediately surging forward to press their lips together. "I will never deny you again," he vowed solemnly. "I'm sorry, Finno. I am so sorry. I am yours as you are mine. I love you. It hurts me that I have hurt you. I will be better. I will treat you better."

“And you must help me to be better for you as well. And if I suggest something that you know is wrong you would be right to deny me. I just… I had thought the situation through tonight.” Fingon cupped his lover’s cheek. “You treat me very well, Russandol. I-- even tonight I was never unaware of how fortunate I am to have your love. And… we’ve talked before bed, like grandfather suggested. Now can we just be happy to be together? You’ll have to stop hurting, though, because if you are in pain I am as well.” Fingon kissed him chastely and raised bright eyes to his betrothed. “And we should be happy. We have grandfather’s approval, and our fathers’ and our mothers’. We are so close to being bonded.” Fingon kissed him again. “Tyë-melin.”

"We are," Maedhros said, and breathed deep, and wrapped Fingon in his arms, and laughed amid his tears, and kissed him again. "And I am happy, now that I have your forgiveness. I love thee, Findekáno."

“Always,” Fingon promised. “I will always forgive thee. Inyë tye-méla, tenn’ ambar-metta.” Content, Fingon snuggled closer. “I cannot wait to be one with you,” he whispered, brushing away Maedhros’ tears and trying to blink away his own.

"Ai, Finno," he sighed, kissing his cousin's brow. "Nor can I." His mind wandered now backward, slightly, from his usual daydream, to the wedding itself--that they were even going to _have_ a wedding. "I wonder what our mothers have been plotting?" He wondered, grinning. "For the wedding. I haven't been consulted. Have you?"

“Not once.” Fingon grinned. “Do you think we should be afraid? Hmm… I have no problem leaving some of the ceremony and reception in their hands--it will please them both. But… do you still want to make for the Maitimoronti and our valley following the festivities?” His eyes danced and he squeezed Maedhros, indescribably glad that they were lying together discussing some of the particulars of their bonding.

"Well, I have always been told that it is the nís who has the honor of planning a wedding. Since there is none among us, I suppose that honor falls to our mothers." He grinned. "I don't much mind, except, yes. I would love to go to our mountains, and climb that peak, and look out over that canyon, and there I would be bonded with you under the stars."

Fingon felt of tingle of pleasure at the base of his spine. When he spoke, his voice was deeper and caught halfway though his response. “I would like that. It would please me greatly.” He tried to press himself closer to Maedhros, tangling their legs together and almost snuggling under him. “Mmm. You’ve been thinking about it too, then.” He smiled against Maedhros’ neck.

"Well, yes, I suppose I have. Often, and repeatedly," he said with a feral grin. "Usually when I am alone, and have been without you too long. And I think how where we have our bonding must be in some remote place, at least, so that only I can hear your screams of pleasure."

Fingon shifted against his lover, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. “A wise idea. And scream I shall, though I will not be the only one crying out in passion.  Please… please tell me more.” He already sounded half wrecked, perhaps because he’d been crying and his throat was tight after the meetings with Fingolfin and arguing with Maedhros. “Tell me about something we will do together, some night when we get back to camp sweaty and aching and pleased with ourselves after exploring some of the hills or the far side of the lake or another area. W-will you speak to me now of some secret pleasure I can give you, something you have desired and dreamt of when you’ve been alone and too long without me?”

Maedhros growled, and rolled over atop Fingon. "What I desire to have of you, Fingon, that I do not yet have? Well, if we are already dirty and sweaty from our hike, I will not feel bad to muss your hair, or bite you, or pin you down and wrestle with you. We might chase each other in the darkness, sometimes taking and sometimes giving, battle for dominance. And we will be equally matched, and we might be hours before we got to the actual lovemaking, teasing each other, touching each other, alternating rough and gentle. And when we finally fall asleep, we will sleep late and awake naked in the wilderness, unsure where we are or how we got there." He grinned, and stole a kiss. "How does that sound?"

Fingon was moaning softly by the end of his description. He pressed his forehead to Maedhros’ shoulder and took several deep breaths. “It sounds wild, passionate… fun. It will probably take an hour or more to detangle my hair the next day, but it will be well worth it. And when we wake up we’ll both be covered in scratches and teeth marks and the best kind of bruises.” He shook his head, and looked up at Maedhros. “You have a deliciously filthy mind, cousin- literally and metaphorically. Why do you so rarely share such thoughts with me? That one sounds wonderful.” He shivered. “Quite wonderful. I think I’ll be dreaming of that night for next several months.”

Maedhros blushed. "Well, when you share my mind, you will have them all. It will be easier for me than speaking them out loud--though I daresay you will draw more from me before then." He kissed Fingon's neck, and sucked a bruise there brazenly. "Is it wrong that I want your father to see this?" he giggled, kissing it again.

“N-ah not at all. Oh! Russ, it’s been to long. I _ache_.” He stroked across the tinges of red painting Maedhros’ cheeks. “It may be difficult for you to speak them out loud, but… you can feel what that does to me, Russ. Thank you for trusting me with your fantasies.” He turned his head slightly. “Does that mean I get to give you a matching mark? Only I suppose it should be something you can cover… perhaps a tiny bit lower, then.” Fingon leaned down, pulling at Maedhros’ shirt and licking lightly at the area he chose before pressing his mouth to the spot.

"Ah!" Maedhros hissed, grinding against Fingon, and, yes, feeling his ache prominently. "Finno, you don't know how I desire you." He cupped Fingon's cheek. "Now it is your turn to share. Tell me what you want from me, right now, and I will give it you."

“I--ahh…” Fingon’s brow furrowed as he thought. He would be happy with anything, but this particular moment… “Before we finish I would like to… to take you in my mouth, to swallow you down, and to have you doing the exact same to me. And I would like you to put more marks on me, in places that will be hidden by my clothing. I’d like to walk around tomorrow covered in your marks, though only you and I will be aware of it.”

Maedhros' eyes glinted, and he smiled. "As you wish, arimelda," Maedhros said, "though I think you are reading my thoughts even before we are bonded." He drew back, slightly, tugging his shirt off over his head and wriggling from his clothes.

“You know what they say about great minds,” Fingon teased, tugging at the laces on his own shirt. He toed off his socks, loosened the lacings on his pants, and then lay back on the bed with his arms spread wide in invitation. “Your beauty never fails to take my breath away, Russandol,” he murmured, pupils expanding as he watching Maedhros strip.

Maedhros huffed, and had to stifle a groan as he gazed at Fingon. "What do you think you do to me, Findekáno?" he said. "Now, tell me, should we begin with me marking you as mine in secret places? You know I wouldn't mind getting a few from you in return." He winked and closed his lips over Fingon's shoulder.

Fingon arched slightly, baring his throat submissively and giving Maedhros free reign with his body. He reached up to stroke Maedhros’ head as his lover set to work bruising him. “Perfect Russandol,” he whispered. Whether he meant that what Maedhros was doing was perfect, or simply that Maedhros was perfect was unclear. He let out a sighing moan as Maedhros worked slightly lower, attacking his chest with lips and tongue and teeth.

He gave special attention to each of Fingon's nipples, wanting them to be sensitive, wanting him to feel it the next morning and all day. He drew his nails down Fingon's ribs, hearing him hiss and arch. "I hope these are waiting here for me tomorrow night," Maedhros said.

Fingon nodded, and though he could not reciprocate at present, he lowered his hands and raked his nails up Maedhros’ broad back just as his cousin bit down on a patch of skin. “Oh!” He sank back, letting the pillow support his head. “Make sure they are dark and clear and they will be here for you tomorrow, as will I.” He ran his fingers through is cousin’s hair as Maedhros moved lower.

"Uhhh," Maedhros moaned, as he licked up the underside of Fingon's sex. "You're delicious, Findekáno," he whispered. "I think I will leave this unmarred. But this," he lifted Fingon's thigh and bit into the inside of it.

“Ack!” Fingon’s hips jumped. “What are you trying to do to me? I’m going t’ look like I was trampled or fell off a cliff.” He settled, though he fisted his hands in the sheets as he let Maedhros continue to play.

"You asked for this," Maedhros reminded him, and then kissed the spot. "This is, of course, too distracting," he said, taking hold of Fingon and stroking him, "and I don't know how long I can go on without it." His own hips rocked, needily.

“Soon,” Fingon promised. “Want to mark you, like you said. Your shoulder and… perhaps your hip. Then I want you on top of me.” He closed his eyes briefly as Maedhros bit a new spot. “Can you imagine what this will be like when we are wed? When we can both give and receive at once?”

Maedhros growled, biting Fingon's knee. "Ah, you are a cruel master, Fin. I shall content myself sucking something else," he laughed, and put his mouth around Fingon's big toe.

“That--that should not be anywhere near arousing as it is,” Fingon groaned. “Almost done playing, arimelda? When you are might I beg another kiss from thee?”

Maedhros pulled off with a slick sound. "Now I like the taste of your feet, Finno, but I don't expect you would." Still, he crawled up Fingon's body and kissed him, thier mouths sliding together.

Fingon yielded to him, following Maedhros’ lead in how they moved and how their mouths and bodies slotted together. “I’ve missed this,” he whispered when they broke apart. Fingon ducked down to nip at Maedhros’ collarbone. “Missed you,” he added.

"I was so afraid to lose this tonight, Finno," Maedhros whispered, afraid to voice his fears. "I could wait for you, and I would--but I've never not seen you for more than a few months, and to be separated from you forcibly, as almost happened--" He shook his head. "Sorry. I just--I am so grateful for this. For you."

“As am I,” Fingon murmured against his skin, hands stroking along Maedhros’ sides. “And so was I. Melda, that was the worst feeling- when he grabbed me and started dragging me-“ Fingon shivered. “But I’m here. And You’re here. And it’s been too long.” He slid down Maedhros’ body leaving a trail of marks along his path. “I’ have missed you and missed this. My fëa aches for you when you are not near.” He traced a delicate path up Maedhros’ arousal. “And I want you in my mouth. I want to feel you and taste you; I want you to come undone in my and around me.” He looked up at his lover. “I desperately want to carry part of you within me as we deal with everything tomorrow.”

Maedhros grinned as Fingon squirmed and rearranged himself beneath him. “Me, too. Want you in me, want part of me in you,” he growled. “It’ll have to do until we’re bonded, anyway.” He got up to help Fingon move, and leaned down to mouth along Fingon’s sex. “Now who will finish first, do you think?” he teased, as the idea came to him suddenly. “Should we make a wager?”

Fingon groaned at the thought. “S-sounds like fun.” He yanked Maedhros’ head up with a whimper. “You’re cheating if you’re already starting. What will we wager? Whomever wins gets to decide what we do first tomorrow night? Or did you have something else in mind?”

Maedhros growled, and looked down at Fingon from the awkward angle. "I was thinking a bit more." He breathed against Fingon's sex. "He who spends first will be under the winner's power, entirely for their pleasure, however, whenever, from morning ‘til night." He licked his lips. "What do you think?"

Fingon’s body reacted before he could voice a reply, and he laughed lightly when his arousal twitched and brushed against Maedhros. “Aah! That’s still almost cheating, Russ. Just hearing such words from your mouth-- I fear you could bring me to completion just by continuing to speak in such a manner. But yes. Yes, I would like that. I would like to be under your power-- to serve you for a day. Or perhaps to have you serving me,” he added teasingly. Fingon shivered as he watched Maedhros poised so close to him, and in such an unusual orientation. He had said it teasingly before, but he hardly dared to imagine what his would be like when they were bonded.

Maedhros kissed Fingon's thigh, and adjusted his stance. "We shall see. Begin on your mark."

With a huff of laughter, Fingon met his lover’s eyes. He grinned, hands rising to bracket Maedhros’ hips. “Mark.”

Maedhros took a deep breath and swallowed Fingon nearly to the hilt at first go, humming before pulling off to lick at him teasingly. He reached around to grab at the globes of Fingon's backside, and squeezed gently.

Fingon arched up slightly, enveloping Maedhros and urging his hips down so that Fingon could rest his head while he played with him. This was… the same and yet different. It was strange to have Maedhros’ arousal at such an angle, but he was determined to use it to his benefit. He hummed around his lover, and licked his way back up with broad swipes of the flat of his tongue. As he reached the tip he nipped gently, then caught Maedhros in his hand and took him in once more, swallowing him to the root, moaning and shaking as he felt Maedhros playing his own game with Fingon’s arousal.

Maedhros rocked his hips into Fingon, almost losing sight of his purpose, before redoubling his efforts, teasing with his fingers and his mouth, licking up the underside of his sex, and pressed his fingers at his entrance. "Ahh, Fin," he moaned around him. "You taste so good."

His toes curled and Fingon pulled off his cousin with a soft gasp. “As do you, betrothed, my husband soon to be. Would I could have this always.” He urged Maedhros’ hips forward slightly, his own body beginning to move from Maedhros' ministrations, and this time Fingon bypassed his lover’s arousal, instead taking his sac fully into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue and sucking. As his mouth closed over the last of it, he found his nose brushing against the underside of Maedhros’ arousal. Careful of the sensitive skin in his mouth, he nuzzled against his lover.

"Ai--ahh," Maedhros moaned, distracted again from his task. He was beginning to second-guess the wager as his hips rocked again. "Ah, Finno," he said, kissing and sucking at him before planting a kiss on his head, slicking his fingers as he probed deeper.

Fingon released Maedhros, and his hands grasped Maedhros hips, shifting them further still. “Ooooh. Oh, Russandol. I yearn for you. I ache for you. I feel so _empty_  without you, as though I was born incomplete, and I’ve found what was missing but I’m not yet allowed to make myself whole.” He moaned, letting the low sound spill forth, and gripped Maedhros’ hips tightly. “Will you open to me as willingly, lover? Will I have to tease you open slowly, or will your body be eager to accept mine?” As he finished speaking he spread Maedhros’ rear, and after three brief licks pressed within him with his tongue, probing deeper in time with the movements Maedhros’ fingers were making. His own hips were bucking into Maedhros’ hand, and he groaned, flicking his tongue and lowering one had to stroke his lover, drawing Maedhros’ closer to completion.

Ahh, Fin, fuck," Maedhros mumbled, mouth encumbered, and his vision betrayed him, going dark with lust as Fingon licked at his entrance. Wait, he had to stop. He wasn't going to--he wasn't going to make it. In desperation he swallowed Fingon deep, rumbling around him and bobbing his head.

Fingon rutted against his lover, and let Maedhros’ hip go. He squeezed his sac, walking a knife’s edge between pain and pleasure for Maedhros, and then brought his hand back further. As he thrust into his lover’s mouth again, he moaned and slipped a finger into Maedhros alongside his tongue, pressing and rubbing against his sweet spot.

Maedhros tried to draw back, knowing he was too close, but Fingon had him at an angle where, though he was on top, he could not escape, and that was thrilling and _what had possessed him to strike that wager with Findekáno?_ He was seeing stars and moaning, and no he wasn't going to last. "Fin-nn--" he groaned.

Fingon made a questioning hum, and _felt_ his tongue vibrate with it inside Maedhros. He pulled back his hand slightly and then plunged too fingers in, eagerly seeking Maedhros’ sweet spot as he twisted his hand around Maedhros on his next stroke. He could feel Maedhros’ breath on him as his lover groaned, and he clenched his muscles to keep his head from falling back at the sensation. He hummed again, tapping the fingers inside Maedhros insistently as he felt himself drawing inescapably closer to the edge.

Maedhros tried to hold onto it, he really did, and under other circumstances he might have managed it, but Fingon was so _good_ and tasted so--perfect--and, hips jerking, he spent, hard and hot and entirely undone, his cry muffled around Fingon in his mouth.

Fingon cried out as he felt Maedhros tighten around him and spend across his chest and stomach. He held on, barely, waiting until Maedhros’ finished even as his lover’s cries did unbelievable things to him. He pulled back, shaking hands jerking Maedhros’ shaking hips, and he took his lover back into his mouth, hoping to coax the last of his seed from him and to get some small taste since the rest had been wasted. He moaned steadily around his lover as Maedhros came back to himself enough to focus on driving Fingon mad. Punishment, he thought, as his hips rocked up, for bringing Maedhros so quickly to completion.

"Uhh," Maedhros moaned, almost begging Fingon to finish as he reeled, dizzy and oversensitive. He pumped Fingon with his hands and kissed his head, fondling his sac and squeezing it. He pulled off, a string of saliva following him. "You win," he gasped, "you win. Grant me this small thing," and he almost hated him for his stamina.

“Anything,” Fingon moaned painfully, letting Maedhros slip free. “Anything, you _know_ that melda.” He dropped a hand to fist the sheets, desperately needing to finish. He rocked against Maedhros, and after he started, he found he could not stop speaking. He begged Maedhros, and hugged him upside down. "Pleeeease-" He broke off, falling over the edge almost unexpectedly and letting out short rough breaths as he spent.

Maedhros swallowed him, swallowed what he gave him, thirsty for it, and desperate, and needy, and bobbed his head, pumping Fingon to his completion. "Ai, Fin--" he sighed, and rolled over, sliding off him. "Damn it," he said, but he was too satisfied to be actually angry. He took Fingon's hand and kissed it.

Fingon squirmed until he was also facing the foot of the bed, and tucked himself next to Maedhros. “I’ve missed you, arimelda,” he whispered as he curled a strand of Maedhros’ hair about his finger. He grinned up at his lover. “That was close.”

"It was not close. You took pity on me at the end. I don't think I will underestimate your--abilities ever again!" Maedhros kissed Fingon, pulling him close, and sighed, and laughed. "I know I lost. But I am very happy now." Already the evening's crisis seemed a distant memory.

“I would have been happy either way,” Fingon said, shrugging a shoulder. He smirked. “I’m glad you appreciate my abilities, though. You have surpassed me in every other area- it is nice to know that sometimes in bed I can still drive you past reason.” Correctly believing they would do this again in the future, Fingon kept his trick to winning secret. As he drew close too soon, he had imagined Maedhros ordering him not to finish, to hold back, to wait. And there was little in this world he would not do for his betrothed. Surely having his body obey was the smallest thing he could accomplish in love’s name. “Russ?” he asked. “Should we get into bed? Under the covers, I mean?”

"Mm," Maedhros agreed, and they wriggled and slid until they were well covered. "Can I get you anything?" he asked as Fingon settled. "Water, or--a wet cloth to clean up?" Without waiting or a reply, Maedhros kissed Fingon's brow and got up.

Fingon squirmed back to the top of the bed, but remained on top of the covers while Maedhros got the cloth. “Russ?” he called. “Could you please bring a glass of water as well?” He already felt his eyelids drooping, and looking back this had been an incredibly long, emotionally wrought day.

Maedhros indeed returned, as quickly as he could, with a glass of cool water and a warm washcloth. He gave the cup to Fingon to drink and cleaned him up before pulling the covers over him. "Good?" he asked, taking the glass when Fingon was finished. "Ready for sleep?" he asked, though it was obvious, Fingon's eyes drooping, and he brushed his hair back from his face. "I'd like to hold you. Tomorrow you can dictate." He grinned, and blushed.

Mhmm.” Fingon moved closer to Maedhros, eyes falling shut. “Only as you let me, though. Telperion if you want to stop, right? Or just firmly tell me to stop and we will.” He snuggled into Maedhros’ warmth. “Goodnight arimelda Russandol. I love thee.”

"And I love thee, Findekáno, my love, my betrothed, my soon-to-be-husband, my everything." He huffed as he gathered Fingon into his arms, arranging the blanket over them both and brushing Fingon's hair with his fingers. "I remember the word. But I trust you and--well, we'll talk in the morning, before we start, if you like. I love thee." With Fingon this close, Maedhros could hum very softly, and Fingon could hear it through his chest, and soon they both were fast asleep.

Maedhros woke warm and comfortable, with Fingon soft and sleeping in his arms. Fingon's head lay on Maedhros' arm, which was curled around the back of his neck, and both of their arms were draped over each other, chests pressed close so that if one breathed in while the other breathed out, they were always touching. Treelight streamed into the room bright and insistent, basking the bedroom in gold. Distantly--here he remembered with a flush of embarrassment how not-soundproof his grandfather's house was--he heard sounds of breakfast, and felt obliged to get up and worry about the smaller ones, but the whole family was here and maybe, just maybe, their absence would go unnoticed (until the inevitable moment when Grandfather would announce their engagement, which sent butterflies astir in his belly). But for now Fingon was still sleeping, beautiful and _his_ , unless Maedhros was his, and he kissed him softly over one closed eye.


	2. Chapter 2

Fingon woke slowly, shifting against Maedhros. He groaned, blinking his eyes open and he saw Maedhros watching him. “Arimelda,” he whispered, voice rough with sleep. “I love thee.” He tightened his arm around Maedhros’ waist, pressing them closer together. “Good morning,” he added with a smile.

"Good morning," Maedhros responded, kissing Fingon's nose. "I love thee. How did you sleep, my Findekáno?"

“Well,” he said. “Very well, for I was in your arms and held you in mine. And you?” Fingon was slightly concerned--however well their evening had ended, the previous day had been less than pleasant. He brushed Maedhros’ cheek with a hand. “How did you sleep, my husband to be?”

Maedhros winced, having forgotten about the bruise. "Ah, fine," he said, and touched his cheek tenderly. "How bad is it?"

“Sorry-- I’m sorry.” Fingon tilted Maedhros’ head. “It’s not bad. I can barely tell it is there. And it's only a bruise, I don’t think he harmed the bone.” Fingon’s mouth drew into a thin line and the thought. “I’m so sorry. When your father saw us together you threw yourself in front of me, even if it was not needed in the end. I wish I could have protected you in turn.” That bruise should not exist, he thought, eyes drawn to every discoloration of Maedhros’ skin. But if it had to, it should have been on his face instead. He sighed. “Today should be better. And I don’t think anyone else in the family will try to lay hands on us.”

Maedhros kissed Fingon's hand and smiled. "I am all right, Findekáno. I just didn't want it to be very visible and cause a lot of questions." He shrugged. "I would _not_ be all right if you had gotten in the way and been hurt. Drive it from your mind," he said, and kissed Fingon. "Today will be better, of course." He smiled.

“It will.” Fingon pushed against Maedhros, rolling them until he was straddling his cousin who lay on his back. “And I think I won something,” he said with an innocent smile. “Perhaps another kiss?” He shifted above Maedhros. “And perhaps a little more than another kiss?” Framing his cousin’s face he gently stroked his cheeks and jaw. “Tyë-melin, Russandol. More than words can say.” He leaned down to bring their lips together.

Maedhros moaned into the kiss, though his breath hitched as he remembered. "Oh!" And he blushed and smiled, feeling himself react already at this memory. "I, ah, I am yours to command," he answered, lying still.

“Two commands then. Love me,” Fingon said the first immediately. “And if you don’t want to do something, tell me you want to do something different or you want to stop and we’ll stop.” He brushed his hands down Maedhros’ chest, fingers tracing the marks that remained visible on his cousin’s flawless skin. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Oh, and please do whatever you want to right now--I’m not asking you to stay perfectly still--though that does give me ideas.” The last he added with a mischievous grin.

"I--" Maedhros blushed deeper as his imagination got away with him, but grinned wider. "You give me commands that are written into my being--well, except, to deny you anything is not in my nature, but if I am _too_ uncomfortable, I will name the tree, as we established." He touched the small bruises he had made over Fingon's skin. "I think I might have gotten carried away last night," he said sheepishly. Then without warning he flipped them, pinning Fingon on his back. "You said to love you, and so I shall. Will you order me how?"

Fingon laughed as he found himself pinned under Maedhros. “As you will, but in such a way that I might pleasure you in turn.” He glanced down at himself. “And I asked you for this. I am not hurt, just… colorful. Today if I’m stressed or troubled or nervous, all I need do is touch a spot under my clothing, or move in such a way that I feel one of your marks and I shall have a physical reminder that I am yours, that you are mine. So thank you.” He snuck a leg up and wrapped it around Maedhros’ upper thighs, urging his lover to move against him.

Maedhros pumped his hips for a few strokes, grinding them together while he kissed Fingon sloppily, before bending down to hook his hand under Fingon's knee and spread his legs out against the bed. "I clearly need more practice at this," he said, bowing to take Fingon's sex in his mouth, eyes never leaving Fingon's.

Fingon worried his bottom lip as he watched Maedhros, a flush rising to his face at the thought of being so spread in such an exposed way. “Valar, Russ. You don’t need practice… but I certainly won’t complain if you _want_ to practice.” He started to move his hand from where Maedhros previously had his arms pinned and then stopped. “I told you that you could do what you wanted first. Do you want me to keep my hands on the bed or may I touch you?”

Maedhros pulled back enough to nod. "Please," he said, and, "Y-you could touch my hair. Guide me, if you would?" His hands massaged the backs of Fingon's thighs and he took Fingon in his mouth again, swallowing him deep, never dropping eye contact.

“Aaaah. ‘s nice.” Fingon sighed as he threaded his fingers through Maedhros hair before grasping fistfuls, and urging Maedhros into the rhythm he wanted. His lover never stopped looking at him and Fingon just… couldn’t. Do anything. Russ looked pleased and beautiful and mussed, and the sight of him slipping into Maedhros’ mouth, of the way Maedhros’ seemed to savor his presence sent thrills rushing through them. The night before he had been trying to ignore what his lover was doing so that he could focus on Russ. Now, he let himself relax into Maedhros, increasing the speed of their movements and keeping his eyes locked on his lover’s.

It was dizzying, being so completely focused on Fingon like this, and it was wonderful, the smell and taste and feel of him. His hands in his hair felt good, felt erotic, and he bowed to Fingon's pleasure greedily, licking down as far as he could reach and humming deep in his throat to further stimulate him. He involved his fingers, too, massaging his backside and balls before prodding at his entrance questioningly.

“Oh! Oh, please. Please, melda. Please my Russ.” Fingon’s eyes closed briefly and he forced them open, meeting his cousin’s steadying gaze again. “Already close, beloved. I’m already so close. More? Please?” He forced Maedhros’ head down on him and shuddered as his cousin swallowed around him.

Maedhros gagged slightly, but kept going, forcing Fingon down his throat, knowing that press of meeting something solid and then slipping past felt _so good_ , and Fingon groaned appropriately in response. And still he wanted more, taking Fingon deeper, all the way, until his nose was pressed against his belly, they could no longer make eye contact, and his greedy tongue tried to gather his balls into his mouth, too. Fingon held him there for a few full seconds before letting him slide back--he gasped for air through his nose, and rumbled in his throat--but he immediately went back for more, sucking hard and teasing his entrance with barely-wet fingers.

Fingon shook his head, trying to speak. “N-need more. ValarRussplease! Just… just push in. Don’t care if they’re dry-- I’ll take them, at least a little. Please.” He yanked on Maedhros’ hair, forcing him back slightly and then down again. He roll shivered as his lover groaned and vibrated around him. “Almost-- almost there. Almost.” He dropped one hand to the bedding, twisting the sheet violently. “Gonna finish, Russ-“

Luckily, his saliva was thick from the back of his throat, and the venture was entirely messy so it was no difficulty getting his fingers wetter. He liked being inside Fingon, even like this. After a few more massaging movements, he pressed inside, and pistoned in and out before crooking his finger to find his spot, swallowing him down in the meantime.

“Russ!” Fingon half-shrieked before turning his face into the pillow, biting down on it to quiet himself as he spent in Maedhros’ throat, clamping down around his fingers. As the first spasms subsided, he turned his head, trying to meet Maedhros’ eyes again. “P-leease” he choked. He loosened his hold, petting his lover’s hair as he cleaned him.

This was, possibly, Maedhros' favorite part, just licking Fingon lovingly and carefully while he slackened, while his limbs still shook, while he squeaked and breathed heavily. His hands rubbed gently up and down his thighs, and once Fingon was clean he crawled up his body, leaving kisses where he went until he bundled him safely into his arms and could kiss him deeply. "Thank you, Findekáno." He paused. "Ah, did you--should I--as part of the game, would you require a title? While you are my, ah, my king for a day, as it were?"

Fingon hummed, relaxing in Maedhros’ arms. “I love you,” he murmured, feeling blissfully content. Slowly Maedhros’ words permeated his mind. “Um… ah-- you may call me melindo. But I still like when you call me Finno, or when you’re truly desperate or pleased Finn.” He blushed lightly. “Melindo, though, as a title, if you will.” He nipped at Maedhros neck, thinking. “I’m going to freshen up in a minute. I’d like you to make the bed, and when I get back I want you lying on your back, in the center of it. I want you stroking yourself slowly, but I don’t want you to finish, and I want your eyes closed.” He brushed their lips together and then rolled away, sliding off the bed and making his way into the washroom.

Maedhros' heart raced, both at the touches and at the command, and he nodded. "As you wish, melindo," he whispered, and watched Fingon retreat to the washroom. He leapt up to do Fingon's bidding immediately, making up the bed immaculately and tightly, and almost felt bad lying on it again. But he did as Fingon bade, and lay on his back at the center, already trembling, already hard. He had a feeling that this was either the worst bet of his life, or the best, and he found himself imagining what he would do to Fingon if he had been victor, which only made him ache _worse_  as he stroked himself, and he squirmed on the bed. He remembered to close his eyes only when he heard the door open again and shut, and snapped his eyes closed, trying to appear relaxed when he wasn't. The only thing that moved was his hand.

Fingon leaned against the doorframe for a moment watching Maedhros, spread out for him like an offering, strong and beautiful and almost glowing in the morning light. He walked across the room, skirting the bed, and moved to the desk. He had a pen filled with an ink his uncle had recommended for use on the leather covers of books or journals, one that required a special wash to remove and would not run with water.

He came back to the bed and carefully climbed onto it. He straddled Maedhros’ thighs, watching as his lover’s breath caught and as Maedhros’ hips rose slightly with each stroke of his hand. “Vanya, Russandol,” Fingon murmured. “That’s enough for now. Keep your eyes closed, and put your palms flat on the bed. Alima. Very good.” He moved forward, one hand gently shifting his cousin’s arousal so that he could access the soft skin just above it. The cool nib of the pen danced across his lover’s skin, which tensed and fluttered beneath it. “Very good, melda. You’re doing so well for me. There we go.” Stretching to one side he set the pen on the bedside table, and then bent down, blowing on the ink to dry it and gently kissing Maedhros’ tip.

Maedhros whined at the soft wet scratching low on his belly, and at Fingon's gentle but unhelpful touches. "F-finno?" He breathed, trying not to move, leaving his hands flat on the bed though his legs shifted.

“It’s so tempting to leave you here, like this.” Fingon splayed a hand across Maedhros’ stomach. “You are gorgeous. Flawless. But I want to show you something. Keep your eyes closed, and let me lead you.” He moved off the bed, and carefully guided Maedhros off, moving him until they stood in front of a full mirror in the corner of the room. He stopped up behind Maedhros, wrapping an arm possessively around his waist and rising to his toes so that he could rest his chin on his lover’s shoulder. “Take yourself in hand again. Good. Open your eyes, arimelda.”

Blinded by the sudden light, it took Maedhros a moment to actually see. Fingon had written on him, there, as he had expected, but his breath caught when he realized: 'Property of Findekáno,' it said, and he flushed bright bright red and something so moved in him he was sure Fingon could feel the butterflies in his stomach through where he pressed against the small of his back. He laid his left hand over Fingon's arm. "I--I like it," he said. "I want it always," he admitted, and smiled foolishly.

Fingon grinned, digging his chin into Maedhros’ shoulder lightly. “I’m glad it pleases you, because it’s staying there all day.” He brought his free hand to rest over Maedhros’ stroking hand, stilling it and holding it gently. He met his lover’s eyes in the mirror. “Now, I’m going to suggest something, and I need you to be perfectly honest with me, or else this will lead to an embarrassing situation for both of us. Do you understand?” His lover nodded, and Fingon guided their hands away from Maedhros’ arousal and wrapped them around Maedhros’ torso.

“Part of me wants to stop this right now, and to choose an outfit for you, and to leave for breakfast.” He smirked, watching Maedhros’ arousal twitch. “I want to know if you can handle that. If you don’t think you can, I have other plans for breakfast. If you tell me you can handle it we’ll go out just like this, and given that our fathers at the least will be watching us closely, you will have to be able to chat with the others, to eat and to behave as though you were not in this state.” Here Fingon lowered his hand again, giving Maedhros a teasing stroke. “So tell me, can you… handle… yourself at breakfast, or I do I need to fix you up so that arimeldanya doesn’t embarrass himself -– and me –-  at breakfast?”

Maedhros' breath hitched again, but he nodded, and dry-mouthed: "I can. I think I--yes. If you--" he laughed shrilly, "if you stop that now. I'll do my best, though I cannot promise complete clarity." He bit his lip, looking down at Fingon's hand on him. The most erotic thing he could imagine right now was Fingon choosing his clothes for him.

Fingon immediately not only dropped his hand but also stepped back, ending their contact entirely. “Very well. Let’s see what you have here.” He strode across the room and began rifling through the closet, finally picking out dark brown trousers that looked almost black and a carmine shirt that popped against the darker trousers. He rifled through Maedhros’ things, finding socks, boots, and a hair tie for his lover. He laid the garments on the bed and motioned Maedhros to stand and wait while Fingon dressed himself for the day. Then he beckoned Maedhros closer and tenderly, lovingly dressed his cousin. He knelt as he guided Maedhros’ feet into the pants and again when he tied his boots. He buttoned Maedhros’ shirt last, tracing over the inked skin a final time. Then he stepped back and looked at his cousin. “Not quite,” he murmured, and turning to his own things he pulled out a bracelet he had crafted that he was planning to give to Maedhros at some point while they were at Finwë’s. He lifted his cousin’s hand, brushing his lips against it, and slipped on the bracelet. “There. Perfect.”

Maedhros shifted when Fingon turned away, feeling awkward in his skin, and pulling at his shirt, which was barely long enough to cover his arousal. He was still smiling, if nervously, and he wasn't sure he could stop. He found himself hoping the ink on his skin would stay and not smear. When Fingon gave him the bracelet a giggle escaped him: "Oh, Finno, it's lovely!" He exclaimed. "Thank you," and he embraced him before he checked if that was allowed.

“You are welcome, always. Is it bad that I wish to adorn you in things of my own design and, when possible, things of my own creation? Beautiful clothing and delicate chains holding countless gems? Something to match the night you had fallen stars shining across your skin and nestled in your hair." Fingon leaned against his betrothed for a long moment, enjoying the firm press of skin. “Alright, enough. We’d best get to breakfast.” He ran a teasing hand along Maedhros’ hidden arousal. “Best of luck to you, my beloved. And remember your word, if things get too difficult at breakfast. Use it before you show something to the family that you’d prefer to keep between the two of us. A last kiss, if you will, and then shall we head out?”

Maedhros nodded, steeling himself before and after the kiss. "I understand," he said, "and I will alert you if I am any more than mildly uncomfortable. If," here he took Fingon's hand, stopping him before they went out, "if you find me acting inappropriately, feel free to excuse me from table on your own authority. I, ah, I think I will maintain, however," he assured him. This was nothing like that dinner at his father's house. He was merely constantly reminded of, rather than dominated by, his arousal, and he was not quite past the point of no return, where it could, possibly, just go away. "And you must know that I loved nothing more than to be adorned by something of yours, unless it is seeing you wear something of mine. Finno," he said. "Could we wear our rings, do you think? In the company of everyone?"

“Well… we have grandfather’s approval, and our parents’ approval… I don’t see why we would need to hide. I have never wanted to hide this. And I would very much like to wear my ring, beloved.” Fingon unclasped the chain his ring hung on and he handed it to Maedhros. “Would you put it on me?”

"I would love nothing more," Maedhros said, kissing Fingon's knuckles before sliding the ring home, where it belonged. He giggled again. "There is something...vaguely erotic about this. Or maybe that is just where my mind is, right now." He blushed and bit his lip. "Sorry. To make such a sacred thing into--well--never mind. Would you also put mine on me?" he asked, tugging the chain from his neck and handing the ring (it was in pieces, but he knew how to fit them together without looking, and did so quickly) to Fingon.

Fingon took the ring, smiling, and slid it slowly down Maedhros’ finger. “Don’t apologize-- I feel the same. It is sacred, but it is also… it is a sign that I am yours, that you are mine. It is something to show others that we belong together, and a sign of our love. That touches something deep in me. Both an innocent love and something carnal-- perhaps the same thing that is touched when I think of the bruises hiding under your tunic.” He kissed Maedhros again and took his hand, leading them out the door. “To breakfast, arimelda, ancalima, ar anvanya Russandol?”

Blushing at the compliment, Maedhros followed Fingon out into the hall, and from there, to breakfast, content to be led by the hand and miraculously, not minding that some people stared. Celegorm caught up with them: "Did Nolofinwë _really_ hit you?" he hissed in his ear, breaking his calm (though on the plus side, this helped kill his distraction from his arousal).

"Hush, Tyelko," he bit out, and as Celegorm caught sight of the light puffing on his cheek: "I fell down some stairs," he insisted firmly.

Celegorm’s eyes went wide, and he peered at him, and then grinned, catching at his collar and pulling it down to reveal a bruise. "That what happened here, too?" he grinned before Medhros batted his hand away.

"Turko, do we ask you about the marks on my little sister?" Fingon asked wryly. "Or about the days you wander around my family's kitchen throwing up and looking like you haven't slept in a week?" He slid an arm around Maedhros' waist. "Careful my future brother--your running out of our secrets you can threaten us with while we still have all of yours!" Fingon grinned at him and Celegorm smiled back in acknowledgment of a well played move."

Tyelko bowed and backed off, and Maedhros squeezed Fingon's hand gratefully.

"Nelyo, Finno!" Grandfather waved from the head of the table. "Come sit by me," he said, seating them on his right hand and banishing his own sons with their wives to his left side. Indis sat on the other side of Fingon.

"Is it all right if I make the announcement now?" Finwë checked, leaning down and whispering conspiratorially.

Fingon held up his hand subtly to show Finwë the ring. He smiled. "Please, atar atarinyo. We wish to wear these openly from now until they are replaced with the next set." He glanced at Maedhros to get his nod of approval, and when he lowered his arm Fingon grasped Maedhros' hand under the table, unable to completely stop smiling.

Maedhros' face was also fixed with a grin as he nodded at grandfather, his only hope that grandfather wouldn't make them stand, because Fingon holding his hand under the table made him even more aroused than he was before. He squirmed slightly in his seat, and leaned to whisper in Fingon's ear "I hope you can feel your bruises as much as I feel mine."

Fingon winked at him with a small nod, then turned to their grandfather.

Finwë stood. "Good morning, and thank you all for a wonderful celebration yesterday, and for agreeing to stay for an extra day. There is a second reason I wished to have us all together, beyond celebrating my begetting day. I am glad to announce an upcoming union between two Eldar who are dear to my heart." The table was filled with exclamations of curiosity and people looking around the table searchingly. Fingon squeezed Maedhros' hand.

Now the flush was gone from Maedhros cheek, though the smile was not. This was good. He was proud of this, and not the least bit embarrassed or uncomfortable.

"This may be the first news to some of you, but to others it is well known, and still to others it might have been guessed." Finwë paused to allow for chuckles. "As we enjoy our breakfast, make sure you come by and congratulate my grandsons--" he paused, to let a few murmurs die down, but continued as if he hadn't heard them, "one of the line of Miriel Þerinde, and one of the line of Indis of the Vanyar, distant enough in kinship to be bonded according to our law, and whose nuptial waits only for the coming of age of one of them. I therefore present to you, with my full and wholehearted blessing, and with the blessings of Curufinwë and Nerdanel, and Nolofinwë and Anairë, the formal betrothal of Nelyafinwe and Findekáno."

Fëanor was the first to stand, clapping and shouting, his sons with him, and also Nerdanel, and soon the rest of the table joined. Now Maedhros flushed (mostly at embarrassment at his obnoxiously loud, if loving, father), and grinned and brought their held hands together and rested them on the table.

Fingon glanced around the table curiously. Aredhel was applauding as loudly as his cousins, while Turgon looked contemplative and somewhat confused. The moment Finrod understood he was standing and cheering, leaning down to explain to Galadriel, who squealed in delight. Finarfin's face was unreadable and there was a mixture of expressions around the rest of the table. Fingon turned back to his betrothed, eyes alight and with a blinding grin. He leaned over and Maedhros met him halfway for a chaste, loving kiss. "Tyë-melin," he said quietly. "With all that I have been, am, and will be, tyë-melin."

And then Maedhros did something entirely unexpected--whether it was the arousal he was dealing with under the table, or simply a wash of unparalleled happines--he leaned over and kissed Fingon full on the lips in front of the assembly. His brothers were cheering obscenely, as was Finwe, though Maedhros broke off the kiss before it had really begun, and it was more chaste than anything. Once his eyes left Fingon's, he took in as many faces as he could see from this vantage point, looking for any problems. Finarfin seemed as cool and supportive as always: Finrod looked gob smacked but pleased, as did Aegnor and Angrod. Galadriel just seemed excited to be clapping. Turgon, the other wildcard, looked grudging at best, but he probably should have been told earlier. Fingolfin looked happy until their eyes met, and then he just looked apologetic and embarrassed. Maedhros flashed him a smile and shook his head slightly, as if to tell him it was nothing.

When the commotion finally died down, Finwë waved his hand for silence. Aunt Anairë was somehow by his side, and he clasped her hand as those gathered at the table began to sit. "And, since this day is full of good news, I would also like to announce that our Anairë is with her fourth child--" surprised and pleased gasps echoed down the table-- "to be due on, when was it, my dear?"

"At the beginning of the year," Anairë said, a beautiful blush on her cheeks, and in that moment she looked like Fingon, and before Maedhros knew it he too had stood and was leading the next round of cheering as excitedly as his father had done before.

Fingon stood and clapped with the others, and the number of excited whispers between family members increased. He smiled at Maedhros, and slowly everyone took their seats and the meal began. Nerdanel and Anairë were leaning over Fingolfin to speak in excited whispers, and Fingon felt certain they were making additional wedding plans. He nudged Maedhros with a smile as they began to fill their plates.

Maedhros grinned at him. "You didn't tell me you were expecting a new brother or sister! Did you know?"

Fingon shook his head. He let Maedhros finish filling his plate, then looked around the table. Finwë was in the middle of a discussion with Indis, and everyone else appeared to be excitedly discussing one of the two pieces of news. Fingon slid his hand onto Maedhros’ thigh, and leaned over to whisper “pay attention” in his ear.

Maedhros gave a quick nod, his smile fading in distraction, and he looked sidelong at Fingon, waiting.

Fingon turned back to his meal, taking a sip of water, apparently set to ignore Maedhros in favor of his meal. Then he slid his hand over and he began writing lines of Tengwar along his lover’s thigh, pausing at the end of some sentences as he appeared to write whatever he was presently thinking, continuing as some new thought came to mind.

“So vanya, arimelda. Do you know what I’m thinking of now? I’m imaging you pulling me onto your lap, here in front everyone, and grasping my thighs and grinding me against you. Would you want me facing you, begging you with eyes and mouth as you touched me? Or would you have my back to your chest, showing me off while denying me the sight of you?” Fingon delighted in the way Maedhros was alternately tensing and relaxing beneath his hand. He gave his cousin a sideways glance and smiled sweetly at him. Then he continued writing. “Everyone would know that I am yours completely, my prince. You might keep firm hands on my hips moving me as you would, or perhaps you would release me and order me to bring us to completion merely by moving against you. If I faced away I would lay my head back on your shoulder, begging you to kiss or bruise; to mark me as yours as I rolled my hips and ground back against you, trying desperately to please my future husband.”

Maedhros was dizzy with the visions Findekáno was sharing with him, and though he lost focus and words a few times, his arousal strained against his trousers and he stopped being able to eat. "Finn--" he whispered, pleading, as sweat beaded on his brow.

Fingon tapped his finger to get Maedhros’ attention, and began writing again. “My dear, dear, husband to be. So sensitive? Do my words drive you so far, so quickly? And while you are in the middle of our family, in front of them where they can all see you? Very well. I love you, so I shall be merciful for a while. But Russandol-- later, I’m going to ask you for your thoughts on everything I just suggested, and I will ask you for everything you’re thinking of right now and through the rest of breakfast. And you will answer me promptly, and then…well, we shall see.” Fingon withdrew his hand.

“Russ?” Fingon asked aloud. “Are you well? Is breakfast not to your liking? You should eat more, beloved.”

Maedhros coughed, shifting, relieved, though his mind scrambled to hold onto the words, to fill in probably blanks that he had missed, trying to put into words what he was feeling right now. "I, ah, sorry. I was lost in thought," he said, forcing a smile and finishing his breakfast.

Finwë, with impeccable timing, looked over at his grandchildren. “May I ask what the two of you have planned for the day?”

“Ah, may I?” Fingon asked, glancing at his betrothed. “I need to talk to my brother, and we will spend some time with our cousins and family. I was also hoping to go out for a ride and just… relax a little.” Relax after yesterday went unsaid, and Finwë nodded in understanding. “We had mentioned using your library for an hour or two, if that is acceptable, and we shall try to leave our mothers to wedding planning, as they both seem to be enjoying themselves immensely.” Finwë smiled at the last, thinking of past weddings within his family.

Maedhros nodded, feeling oddly aroused by the humiliation--though that was of course too strong a word--of Fingon answering for him, without actually having consulted him at all. He nodded in confirmation, remembering to say something after a delay: "Unless you had other plans for the family?" he asked.

Finwë waved a hand. "Well, meals, but they'll hardly be formal. You two do what you like--only make sure you speak with your mothers, and with Nolofinwë again as well as Turukáno, at some point today."

Both nodded, and continued eating. Several people got up to congratulate them in person, and Fingon watched as Maedhros settled, and began to look more relaxed. At a lull in the conversation, as a final fruit course was brought out as a palate cleanser, Fingon tapped Maedhros’ thigh and began writing. “May I ask you something, arimelda? Nod if that is acceptable.”

Maedhros picked up his tea and dipped his head as he drank, every sense afire and entirely focused on Fingon.

Fingon smiled, spearing a chunk of melon on his fork. “Is your tea good? I was thinking about water just now. After we’re at the cabin, would you be willing to bathe with me again? I was thinking back on last time and was wondering what it would feel like for you to take me in the water.” He paused, savoring the bite, and choosing another. “I was also hoping we might share the sunken bath at your house again. Do you remember how I could lift us and carry you with your legs around my waist while we were in the water? Would you allow me to enter you while we stood in such a manner while nothing touched you but my skin and the warm water and the cool air?” He squeezed Maedhros' thigh and paused to take a sip of his tea, turning to his lover.

“Are you finding everything enjoyable?” Fingon asked aloud, gesturing to Maedhros’ tea but asking about something else entirely.

"I--yes," Maedhros stammered, shaking himself and trying to draw himself from the thoughts Fingon had intentionally trapped him in. "Yes, everything. I enjoy everything with you," he said with a fond smile.

“I’m glad.” Smiling fondly, Fingon snuck his hand higher up and squeezed around Maedhros’ arousal for a moment before sliding his hands back to a proper location. “Ah, are you are almost done? I should speak to Turukáno and Irissë for a moment, and perhaps we can meet them in one of the sitting rooms or the library after the meal finishes. Depending on how that goes we might speak with your brothers or our parents again or just head out for a morning ride? Or what were you planning to do? I would bow to your desires with regard to our morning plans.” 

"Ahh--I, ah--" Maedhros struggled to clear his throat. "I would just, I would like to, ah, _take care_ of something, first, if I could?" he begged, hoping Fingon would understand what he meant, and praying he would answer him. "After that, I--as long as I am with you," he added, wondering if flattery might get him anywhere.

“As you wish. I’d still like to speak with Turukáno and Irissë about meeting us later. I’ll be right back, Russ.” Fingon moved around the room, stopping to talk with others who offered their congratulations, and pulled his siblings aside briefly. Aredhel hugged him and kicked up her feet as Fingon spun her around once. He kept glancing at Maedhros as people began to finish their meals and he made his way back to the head of the table, again stopping to accept congratulations and answer questions. “Ready?” He asked Maedhros as he reached their seats.

Maedhros nodded, folding his napkin and laying it on the table. "Ready when you are," he said, preparing himself to stand, trying to will his erection away, and thinking about how he could make certain his shirt covered it.

Each thanked Finwë and Indis, and then they slipped out of the hall. When they had turned one corner, Fingon grabbed his lover and shoved his back against the wall, pressing into Maedhros and dragging his head down for a long, slow kiss. “Valar, Russandol. I yearn for thee, my perfect love. You did so well at breakfast. I’m so proud of you.”

Maedhros released a giddy breath, and smiled, almost melting against Fingon. "I fear I was--distracted," he admitted, and wrapped his arms around Fingon, pulling him close. "Can you feel what you've done to me, melindo?"

“I can feel you. Now come. The sitting room near the family quarters will be empty, and I believe we have things to… discuss.” He took Maedhros’ hand and began to lead him again. As they drew closer to the quarters he stopped them again to kiss Maedhros, and pulling his lover to him with a hand around the back of his neck and the other gripping and massaging his rear. He pulled back to breathe hotly in Maedhros’ ear. “Tell me how great your need is in this moment, my beloved prince,” he ordered softly.

Maedhros growled, threading his fingers through Fingon's hair. "Enough that I don't care that we're not going back to our room," he huffed. His hips snapped forward, as much to grind against Fingon as to escape the stimulation of his backside. "P-please, Finno," he whispered, his breaths coming fast.

“Not yet.” Fingon spoke firmly but not unkindly, and moved them apart. “We’re almost to the sitting room. While you drive me to distraction, beloved, I’m not quite ready to grind to completion in the middle of our grandfather’s hall. Come.” He took Maedhros’ hand again, drawing him down the last hallway and into the sitting room, shutting the door behind them.

Maedhros followed all too willingly, ready to shake apart in excitement as the door closed behind them. He gave a cursory glance around the room to make sure no one was within, but at this point he didn't particularly care, and he waited awkwardly for instruction, drawing close to Fingon.

“Kneel, arimelda, if you are still willing to obey me.” Maedhros dropped to his knees quickly. Fingon’s breath caught as he watched his lover, his beloved. “Now, I know you need this greatly, but if you are willing, I would have you pleasure me first. When I have finished I will kneel before you and worship your hröa, granting you anything you ask of me until you finish. If you will obey me in this, then come forward and begin.”

Maedhros' breath caught, but he approached, sliding on his knees before he could  manage to be too embarrassed about it (though about halfway through he hesitated, blushing hot, as he thought of how ridiculous, how utterly smitten he was, and it only made him all the harder to think of Fingon having this power over him, to have _given_ it to him) and he glanced shyly up at Fingon. But he continued, crawling forward until he was in front of Fingon, inches away, and stopped. "You know how this makes me feel?" he whispered, reaching up, begging to pull at Fingon's laces. "It makes me feel--I know it's only a part of the game, but--I feel like I need you. Like I _need_ you, Findekáno. Like I cannot live without you. Like my strength is a lie, and you're my only truth. D-does that make any sense?" He shook his head. "Anyway, may I?" He tugged at the strings on his trousers, his own need suddenly forgotten in his eagerness to please.

“I asked you to. Please, my dearest, my most precious, my Maitimo. I would beg you my light, my heart, other half of my fëa. Take me, and bring me to completion as fast as you can.” Maedhros set to work on him, and Fingon wound his hands through Maedhros’ hair, thrusting into his mouth and sighing and the perfect wet heat of his lover. “Perfect, Russ. So good. You are so good to me. I love thee. I yearn for thee.” Fingon let his betrothed work for a few minutes. And then urged Maedhros to look up as he continued. “Hurry beloved, for you look entirely too desperate. And Irissë and Turukáno are coming to meet us here. Just… a little more, a little deeper for me my love.”

Stirred by the fear of interruption (though not as much as he should have, he supposed), Maedhros opened his throat up and swallowed around Fingon, loving his taste, loving the feeling of being full of him. He growled around him, reaching up to play with his balls, further back to press at his entrance, still loose from earlier, and he sucked down hard on him, pulling him to completion.

“Oh, oh Russ. Do that again. _Growl_ for me. Ah!” Fingon did not hold back, or try to make a showing of his stamina. Instead he worked with Maedhros to let his beloved pull him to completion as quickly as he could, having been aroused since breakfast as he watched his lover’s reactions to his teasing. Fingon threw back his neck and his mouth fell open on a silent scream as he spent for Maedhros. He whimpered slightly as Maedhros cleaned him, and held out a hand when he was finished, helping Maedhros to his feet. “C’mon,” he urged, legs trembling slightly. “On the couch. Then I’ll take care of you.” He seated Maedhros, leaning down to brush their lips together. “I believe I promised you anything,” he murmured. Fingon’s hand trailed down Maedhros’ torso and moved teasingly across enclosed arousal. “What would you have me to you, prince? Quickly, now,” he urged.

"Findekáno, no," Maedhros stammered. "There's no time, I--I'm fine--" he protested. "Your--your brother and sister will be here soon, we should--I can wait--"

“Would you make a liar of me, Nelyafinwë? I promised you would come. And unless we have passed the bounds of your trust, I would have you name a way I might pleasure you.” Fingon did not check the time. Rather, he kept his eyes trained on his lover. “Do you remember the word if you wish to stop? And are you using it?”

Maedhros shook his head. "N-no, no, I--I want--" he gulped, steeling himself. "I would have you--I want--you could take me in hand and--and finish me--it won't take long--and then I would watch you lick my seed from your hand. And quickly. But not with the licking after. Please, melindo."

Fingon dropped to his knees before Maedhros, looking up to meet his eyes. “Anything. Anytime. Even,” he flushed, “even if it really _was_ in front of everyone like I suggested before, I do not thing I could bear to refuse you.” He untied Maedhros’ laces quickly, dexterous hands shoving his trousers down enough to gain access. Eyes locked with his lover’s, Fingon raised his hand and took a long, leisurely lick with the flat of his tongue before wrapping his palm around his cousin. “Beloved, do you know what he sight of you does to me?” he asked, hand moving in a torturously loose grip. “And to deny me the opportunity to take you into myself… if this is your payback for breakfast, I tremble at your cruelty arimeldanya Russandol.” As Maedhros opened his mouth to speak Fingon squeezed his hand tight, suddenly providing a close, warm tunnel for Maedhros’ to thrust through. “Is this what you want, my love, or were you imagining my hand differently? Tell me how to please you,” he begged.

"Unnuhhhhgghhh yes, that, I want--I want to dirty your face," he admitted, gasping. "With your mouth, with your hand, I don't care, I could come from you _breathing_ on me right now," he hissed, grabbing Fingon by the back of the neck.   "I just want you stained with me, and I want to watch you lick it off."

Fingon pressed against Maedhros’ hand. He brought his other hand forward, and slid it between his trousers and skin, gripping his sac and rolling it as he sped up with his hand. “Anything. Everything. Spend on my hand and I will treat every drop as the most precious ambrosia that you are gifting me with. I want to watch you finish, Russ. I want to see that look on your face-- I dream of that expression. Of what it will look like as I enter you for the first time. Will you accept me into yourself with such mindless pleasure?”

"Aihhaahhh unn nuuuhhh," Maedhros whined, thrusting into his touch. "Yes, yes, yes, yesyesyes--" and he knew he had no stamina when it came to Fingon, but he hadn't expected to just _go off_ like that, certainly not that _hard--_ what if he'd hit Fingon in the _eye_?! And he certainly hadn’t expected to cry out like that, not that loud.

Fingon’s mouth fell open slightly as he watched Maedhros quickly come undone. He slid his hand out of Maedhros’ trousers to catch the last of his lover’s seed as he stroked him through his completion. Then he was moving his hand, catching a drop that fell from his face. “Anvanya,” he whispered in awe. Maedhros was still mostly dressed, but was flushed and sweating lightly. Where his trousers were opened his inked label was clearly visible proclaiming that the area was the property of Findekáno, and he still stood at attention, not yet softening visibly. “Russ,” Fingon whispered urgently. When he had his lover’s attention, he began to clean his hands carefully, sucking up what was in his palm and lapping at his hands like a cat. He turned his hand to catch the last drop trying to escape, before trying to wipe the seed on his face onto his hand that he might clean that to. He sucked the last drop from his thumb and licked his lips happily as he finished. Smiling, Fingon reached a hand out to trace over Maedhros’ inked skin. “We should get you cleaned up,” he stated, voice rough.

"Y-you look like a cat," Maedhros commented, hunger slaked and eyes half-lidded, from where he lay uncaring, chest heaving, on the sofa. His grin was lopsided. "Licking like that." It was--arousing, or would have been if he hadn't just-- "It's cute," he said.

“I told you that you are precious to me.” Fingon smiled back at him. “And having you within me, even this small part of you that I may hold safe inside me… it is a miraculous feeling, and one of the greatest treasures you could gift me.” He looked at Maedhros. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or pleased to be compared to a cat. I suppose it is a kinder comparison then when grandfather likened you to such a creature.” He threw a lopsided grin at his cousin. “I know your own seed is not your favorite taste, but would you kiss me? And we should get cleaned up.” Fingon pulled out a handkerchief, opting to worry about cleaning them first, and moved to the pitcher of water set up for guests using the room. He wet it, and moved back to Maedhros, wiping his lover’s sweaty brow before cleaning his own face and tucking it away. He knelt over Maedhros, laying him gently within his trousers and lacing them up, tucking in his shirt with a soft caress over the marked skin. “May I kiss thee, arimelda?”

Maedhros melted into the touch on his brow. "Mm, please," Maedhros said, still breathless, pulling Fingon into a thirsty kiss. "Always, always, always, you may kiss me. You must kiss me, for all I am allowed to give orders today." He grinned, sitting up, readjusting himself and helping Fingon to clean himself. "You missed a spot," he said, wiping with his thumb at Fingon's hair and licking his fingers.

Fingon lurched up, sliding their mouths together and climbing onto the couch so that he sat in Maedhros’ lap. “No matter what game we are playing, I do not know that I could deny you something you desperately wanted. Thank you, thank you Russandol-- for suggesting this, for doing this, for letting me tease you at breakfast. I hope-- I hope it made this more intense for you.” He leaned against Maedhros, snuggling into him and resting his head on his shoulder. “Will you tell me what you thought of my idle thoughts at breakfast?”

Maedhros wrapped Fingon close in his arms. "I was about to rattle apart at the seams, for one thing," he confessed, laughing. "Or burst out of my trousers. Everything you said, I wanted. I--I know you said I performed well but I think I was--I felt dumb as a post! This is what you do to me, Findekáno."

“You were perfect,” Fingon whispered. He leaned in to trail kisses up Maedhros’ jaw. “No one else noticed a thing. You were busy… accepting what I was doing graciously, so I kept an eye out for us. And you told me when it was getting to be too much for you to refrain from reacting. You did very, very well.” He nipped at Maedhros ear, closing his lips over the lobe and tugging at it. “And… my thoughts about after we are wed, about a couple of nice long baths... Now that you are thinking clearly, is that something you still want, something you would try with me?”

"Yes, oh, yes, Finno," he moaned, returning his attentions with kisses. "All of those things, all of them. Anything you want. Everything. Findekáno, I won't be able to stand one moment without touching you."

“Nor I, you.” Fingon sighed. “Wish we could fall asleep right now, just like this,” he said, fingers brushing through Maedhros’ hair. “But my brother and sister will be here in--” he checked the time, “ten minutes.” He squeezed Maedhros lightly. “Oh, Russ. I don’t know how I could live without you. You are my world.”

"Ten minutes," Maedhros said, pulling Fingon back onto his lap. "Oh, we have time for another round," he teased, kissed Fingon, and then grew serious. "Turukáno. Is he...will he be all right?" He wasn't shy, after Fingolfin, but--Turgon was much more like his father than Fingon was.

“He’ll be fine. I hope he is only upset that our other brothers and Irissë knew whiel he did not. If he does have a problem, Irissë will turn his mind to approval fairly quickly. My mother would help as well.” Fingon sighed. “I did not wish to put him in a position where he may have felt obligated to tell father. Irissë simply found out, though I admit I would have told her long before I told him.”

Maedhros nodded, satisfied. "Yes, good. I'll leave the talking to you, then. In the meantime, just sit with me, like this. Listen to my heart beating, can you hear it? It's still rather fast," he said, his voice going soft, settling Fingon against his chest.

Fingon lay against his cousin for the next several minutes, eventually rolling until he sat next to him on the couch, his head on Maedhros’ shoulder and their hands linked together. “I love you. I love you, Russ. Tenn’ ambar-metta, arimeldanya.” They were sitting like that when three brief knocks came on the door, soft though loud enough to hear from any part of the room. “Come in, Irissë, Turukáno.” Aredhel pushed open the door making straight for the couch.

“Brother?” She approached Maedhros with her arms slightly raised, seeking a hug but not demanding it.

Maedhros stood, wrapping Aredhel in his arms and smiling. "Sister," he said, and, without warning, lifted her and spun her. She shrieked and giggled.

"Nelyoooo!" she laughed. "Put me down!"

Maedhros obliged, but only after he kissed the top of her head, and looked up: "Turukáno," he said, waiting for his cousin's reaction.

Turgon looked at Maedhros and Fingon with a neutral expression. “Brother, cousin,” he said with a nod. “This was… certainly a surprise.”

“Not entirely, from what grandfather said,” Fingon responded, standing, and Aredhel nodded in agreement. “Turukáno...” he shrugged. “This is. And our union has the approval of grandfather and of our parents, whatever your personal thoughts of it. Though we would very much like your acceptance.”

"Turukáno," Maedhros said. "May I speak to you?" He waited. "You do not have to say yes.”

"I would speak with both of you, unless you insist otherwise," Turgon replied, adding grudgingly, "I know my place in this family." Aredhel glowered at him.

Maedhros accepted this. "My words for you, Turukáno, are of apology," he bowed his head slightly, for though still young, Turgon was taller than Fingon. "I know we hurt you for not telling you sooner, and I would give you explanation if not excuse--if you want to hear it."

"It wasn't your fault!" Aredhel said. She almost stepped back as Maedhros turned his full attention on her, but she stood her ground and looked between her cousin and Turgon. "Turko and Moryo _told_ me. Last night. They said… horrible things. Father went _mad_ and mother and grandfather had to stop him. He and uncle started fighting because he _attacked_ Finno and Nelyo. Russandol you're still _hurt_!" She gestured to the bruise, which while greatly lessened was still visible if one knew to look for it.

Maedhros grabbed her wrist as she reached for his cheek. "Hush, Irissë, please," he said, clasping her hand gently in his hands, and he turned to Turgon. "You are lose to your father," he stated. "And your father is a good man: he has a temper, like almost everyone else in this family. We could not risk him finding out too early, under the wrong circumstances, as you can see--" he looked at Aredhel, whose hand he still trapped in his own, "--though I hardly think he went _mad_." He returned his gaze to Turgon. "Whether you would have or no, we feared you would have told Nolofinwë, and this was why we kept it a secret." Here he chucked, and squeezed Aredhel's hand before releasing it. "And to be fair, Rissë discovered us _quite_ on accident."

Turgon looked between them uncomprehending. “He was upset and yelled-- I hardly see how that is ‘mad’. And He and uncle are constantly fighting--”

“He struck Russandol across the face and started dragging my by my wrist,” Fingon interrupted. “It was so far beyond out of line that I lack words. He accused Russ of terrible things and treated me like some prized possession that he _owned_. Uncle’s temper is far more renowned that father’s and yet he, after ascertaining that we were serious and truly cared for one another, got drunk with us toasting our betrothal and has since treated me like one of his own children. Mother and grandfather both had to ‘discuss’ matters in private for some time with father before Russ and I were allowed back in to speak with them again.” Fingon took a deep breath. He was grateful for how their final conversation had ended, but he was still deeply hurt by his father’s actions and, particularly given his uncle’s as a comparison, it would take some time before he could look at his father as he had before. Turgon stared at him as Aredhel stepped over to Fingon and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Maedhros put a hand on Fingon's shoulder and squeezed. "I do not blame Nolofinwë for his anger," he told everyone, though mainly Turgon, for he looked at him. "We expected it. Findekáno is _not_ a possession, but he is well-loved enough that I cannot blame anyone for wanting him in their life as much as I do. But remember, since he is not something possessed, he loves me in turn, as much as I love him. Your father in his madness forgot this. Please do not make the same mistake, Turukáno. I ask you therefore to forgive me and call me brother less for my sake than for Finno's." He held out a hand to Turgon to shake, hoping they could part, if no longer as friends, than at least as not-enemies.

Turgon considered, and then brushed Maedhros’ hand aside, stepping forward to embrace him quickly. “Fine. If all of our parents are agreed I can hardly complain. Though I’d appreciate not being the _last_ person to know things. From what I gather all of your brothers knew as well as Irissë, our mothers, uncle, and grandfather.” He gave them a wry smile. “I’m not _that_ bad.” Aredhel turned in Fingon’s arms to face Turgon.

“Yes. You rather are,” she replied teasingly, sticking her tongue out at them. Turgon rolled his eyes with a long-suffering look. You told _her_? He expression asked, questioning the mental state of all three of the others.

Maedhros squeezed Turgon tightly. "As I said, Aredhel found out much on accident, and then _she_ blabbed to my brothers. And Findarato and all the Arafinwions didn't know," he pointed out before releasing Turgon. "But you are right: we should have trusted you, and for this you have my deepest apology." He bowed deeply.

“Enough. It’s finished.” Turgon flushed with embarrassment and was trying to get Maedhros to rise and stop looking apologietic. “Are you going to include me in the wedding planning, at least?”

“Of course, of course,” Fingon interjected before Maedhros could respond. “Thank you for volunteering. We’ve left it all in the capable hands of our mothers. A masculine perspective would be appreciated.”

"Oh, I almost forgot. Yes, thank you, Turukáno. You must infiltrate the planning stage somehow. We remain and, I think, will remain, unconsulted. Our wedding day rests in your hands," Maedhros said earnestly.

Aredhel laughed.

Fingon grinned, beckoning Turgon forward, and wrapped an arm around a shoulder of each of his younger siblings. “Well, now that that’s decided, was there anything further you required?”

“A kiss?” Aredhel asked impishly. Fingon brushed his lips across her brow and she smiled impishly. “And from you?” she danced over to Maedhros.

Maedhros grinned and kissed his sister on the cheek. She giggled and flounced happily around the room: "Oh, I almost forgot. Tyelko and I are trying to get a hunting party together. Do any of you want to come?"

“Ah--we needed to speak to Russ’ brothers, but also to our parents again. And--if it’s alright Russ--I’d like a few minutes to talk to Ingoldo.” Fingon smiled, thinking of Finrod’s enthusiastic clapping and cheering at breakfast. “But some other time, I, for one, would love to join you for a hunt.” He looked to Maedhros for his opinion.

"We might ride out with you, though I'm not much in the mood for a hunt," Maedhros said, looking to Fingon for confirmation. "We did, I think, have quite a list of people we needed to see and speak to, but yes, let us know when you're leaving?"

"Okay!" Irissë said, bounding excitedly out of the room and dragging Turgon, who apparently had no choice in the matter, out with her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Fingon stepped up to his lover, leaning against him and wrapping his arms about Maedhros’ neck. “That went… better than I had expected, my betrothed.”

"Your brother is a bit less rash than your father," Maedhros said, sliding his arms around Fingon's middle and leaning down to breathe in the scent of his hair.

“Do you really want to discuss my father and brother right now?” Fingon tilted his head up, kissing Maedhros’ chin, and then bringing their lips together fondly, comfortingly. “This is going to be a good day. I can feel it.” He smiled at his cousin, enjoying being wrapped securely in Maedhros’ arms.

"Of course it is," Maedhros agreed. "You won the bet, remember?" He grinned, and kissed Findekáno again. "Now before you do anything else diabolical to me, who else did we need to speak with?"

“Our parents, and I’d like to talk to Ingoldo. Perhaps his sister as well? I’m glad we can now tell our mothers that Turukáno has volunteered to help them.” Fingon smiled. “But before we go find our parents--“ he leaned in to kiss Maedhros again. “I could do this all day,” he murmured, hand moving up to play with the top of Maedhros’ neck and the roots of his hair.

"Indeed," Maedhros said in between kisses, walking them backwards to the couch. "We should find them. Only not now."

“Not now?” Fingon smiled. “But I thought you wanted to talk to them. I thought you wanted me to not do anything else diabolical to you. How mercurial your mood is today, my beloved Maitimo.”

Maedhros blushed and drew back. "Oh well, you know," he said. "I get carried away sometimes--all the time--with you," he huffed, kissing Findekáno's neck, finding the places where he'd already bruised him and beginning to make more.

“Melda, have some propriety. Lower, if you would, so they don’t all show.” Unlacing his shirt, Fingon quickly slipped out of it, drawing Maedhros’ face lower to his chest. “I could do this all day as well, you know,” he groaned. He cupped Maedhros’ head gently, petting him and brushing back his hair.

Maedhros slid off the couch onto his knees, for it was easier to reach him from here, and he kissed across Fingon's chest, stopping to trace old bruises and make new ones. "Mm, just keep your hands in my hair like that, and so could I," he said. "Are your nipples still sensitive?" he asked, licking across one.

“Yesss. Russ.” Fingon grunted, jerking at the contact. “You can, you can bite too, if you want,” he added. “Just, a little more like that. Arimeldanya Russandol, can you feel how my hröa responds to your touch and your voice, even to your presence alone?”

"I can," Maedhros said, palming at the front of Findekáno's trousers. "Ah, Finno, your _smell_ is intoxicating. And your taste--" he licked up the center of Fingon's chest, from his bellybutton to his throat, and nipped at his jawline.

Fingon hummed. His hands scratched lightly along Maedhros’ back as his lover played. “Beautiful, arimelda. The sight of you at work, at play, doing this to me. You are gorgeous on your knees, my love, and when your hroa seems fiery with your passion and desire.” He thrust against Maedhros’ hand, head falling to rest on the back of the sofa.

"Too soon?" he whispered. "Should we wait? I find my hunger for you is insatiable, now that I know we are so much the closer to our union."

Shaking his head, Fingon cupped Maedhros’ chin and leaned down, drawing him into a kiss. “Never to soon. For you I could do anything. As always, your feelings seem to mirror my own. But come, on the couch.” He drew Maedhros up settling his lover next to him. “Now, open your shirt for me, and your trousers, a little, like we did before. Then put your palms flat on the seat of the sofa, close your eyes, and wait.” Fingon stood and went to the door, locking it. Then he moved back to the tray set up with amenities for guests--glasses, a glass teapot with a candle beneath it, a bottle of cool, fresh water, and what he was looking for.

Body thrumming with desire and uncertainty in equal measure, Maedhros moved to respond to Fingon's orders. He couldn't believe he wanted to come _again_ already, and that his sex almost sprang out of his trousers already. He unclasped his shirt as ordered, then settled against the back of the sofa, with his hands flat at his side.

Fingon grabbed the bucket carefully, soundlessly, and set it on the ground near the couch, close enough he could get to it if he wanted. He stared at the gorgeous expanse of skin in front of him, then lifted his hand and chose to start near the top, tracing from Maedhros’ neck to his nipple with a cube of ice, circling his chest in a contracting spiral until he reached his intended destination.

Maedhros hissed and bucked forward, hands remaining on the couch though his shoulders came forward, "Ai, Findekáno!" he cried, writhing against the shocking cold. It stung, but it also felt _very_ good.

“More?” Fingon asked. He leaned forward as he drew the cube along Maedhros’ chest, and began following its path with his tongue. “You _taste_ amazing, Russandol. I could feast on this alone, and count myself well cared for.” He removed the ice for a moment, and drew it along his own lips until they were chilled and trembling. He put the last, small piece of the ice in his mouth and grabbed a nice cube from the bucket, drawing spirals and loops along Maedhros’ stomach as he leaned forward and caught his cousin’s lips with his own.

Maedhros twitched and arched under Fingon's touch, whimpering into his mouth. "More, yes, more," he groaned, and shivered, but not from cold. Being unable to see only heightened his need.

Fingon smiled, and withdrew his hand for a moment. Watching Maedhros’ carefully, he pulled away long enough to breath, “I love you,” into his lover’s ear. Then he glanced down and pressed the ice in his hand--already almost numb with cold--to Maedhros’ arousal as he wrapped his hand around it.

"Ahhfffuuuhhh," Maedhros cried, bucking in an attempt to free himself from the cold. "Fuck, cold, cold," he whined, grimacing at the pain and pleasure of it, screwing his eyes shut and worrying his teeth at Fingon's shoulder.

Fingon arched under Maedhros’ mouth, keening softly. “Too much?” he asked when he found his voice, letting Maedhros slip from his grasp. “Or do you want more?”

"Mm--more," Maedhros ground out, though he squirmed as if to avoid the touch of the ice and his shoulders were tight. "Nn--not there, though. Too cold," he begged, hoping Fingon would trail the ice higher.

“There, or none at all. Your choice, arimeldanyo.”

Maedhros whimpered, but nodded, his toes curling. "Okay, okay," he said, breathless, and fell back, baring his throat.

Fingon whimpered at the submissive display, and wrapped his hand back around Maedhros’ arousal. He nipped at Maedhros’ throat and nuzzled against it. The ice block was diminishing in size, and eventually he dropped it, letting it rest in Maedhros open trousers, trapped between skin and fabric. Fingon shifted to straddle his lover’s thighs and switched hands, drawing the cold one across Maedhros’ chest while the warm hand gripped Maedhros, stroking the cool flesh firmly. Fingon sat heavily on his lover, pinning him as his hips began to shift in discomfort. “Thank you, Russandol. Thank you my beautiful prince. Are you enjoying this half as much as I am, my perfect love?”

Maedhros squirmed, his senses confused and overstimulated by the mixture of hot and cold. He nodded, dizzy with it, whining, "Yes, Findekáno, please." He bit his lip as his hips strained against Fingon's weight.

“Is it gone yet? The ice?” Fingon asked, proud of how even his voice was even as his hips rocked, pressing him against his own trousers as he shifted on his lover’s lap.

Maedhros tossed his head back and forth. "I don't--I don't know. Cold," he said, his breath hitching.

“Yes, I know it’s cold, beloved.” Fingon found a spot on Maedhros’ collarbone and leaned down to leave a mark. When he raised his head, he loosened his grip on Maedhros until he barely held him. “Now, below you, lover, is there still ice, or has it all melted? You can shift if you need to in order to find out.”

Maedhros whimpered, grinding against Findekáno as he tried to ascertain what was pressing just beneath his sac, causing him pain but also driving him mad with need. "Wet. Cold. I think it's gone," he managed, though he might have just begun to go numb in that spot.

“Hmm. I think you need another one, then. Would you like it down the back of your trousers or down the front?” Fingon shifted away, plucking a new cube from the dish and preparing to slide the smaller one down Maedhros’ trousers.

"What?" Maedhros demanded, and almost opened his eyes as he sat up--and his hands moved, and he's gripped Fingon's wrists before-- "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, returning his hands to flat on the couch.

“It’s alright. You fixed it. And you’re getting desperate, aren’t you. Now, Nelyafinwe.” Fingon leaned back and let a thread of steel lace his voice and it hardened, becoming more like his uncle’s. “The ice. You’re going to keep getting more until you finish, my love, so perhaps you should work to do so quickly. Do you want the next cube down the front of your trousers again or down the back? Choose quickly, or I shall assume you want it down both.”

"Nn-no more in front, p-please," he begged, voice catching and embarrassed at what he had been reduced to. "Mm-maybe--" he had no time to wonder if this was something he actually wanted, but Fingon was already impatient with him, " _in_ me?" He regretted it almost as soon as he said it.

Fingon’s mouth dropped open and his hips jerked. He closed his eyes for a long moment, suddenly desperate for so much _more_. “Valar, Russandol. You, you are… perfect. And wonderful. And you have such a filthy mind melda. I will not deny you such a lovely idea. Now, shift up a little. Here, I’ll get off you so you can move.” Fingon slid down to kneel between his lover’s legs, helping him to ease his trousers down a little more and bare himself. Fingon took a moment to loosen his own trousers. Then, taking the smaller piece of ice, round and smooth from melting in his palm, he held it in his mouth for a moment, meeting Maedhros’ eyes. He reached down, tracing down Maedhros’ crack and pressing _in_ until the small piece disappeared into Maedhros’ body. “Valar,” he breathed, staring up at his lover.

Fingon’s mouth dropped open and his hips jerked. He closed his eyes for a long moment, suddenly desperate for so much _more_. “Valar, Russandol. You, you are… perfect. And wonderful. And you have such a filthy mind melda. I will not deny you such a lovely idea. Now, shift up a little. Here, I’ll get off you so you can move.” Fingon slid down to kneel between his lover’s legs, helping him to ease his trousers down a little more and bare himself. Fingon took a moment to loosen his own trousers. Then, taking the smaller piece of ice, round and smooth from melting in his palm, he held it in his mouth for a moment, watching Maedhros' expressions shift. He reached down, tracing down Maedhros’ crack and pressing _in_ until the small piece disappeared into Maedhros’ body. “Valar,” he breathed, staring up at his lover.

Maedhros whined, throwing his head back against the sofa and clenching against the intrusion. The cold _ached_ like he didn't imagine it would, and he squirmed, biting his lip and, "Fin, _please_ ," he gasped.

“You can open your eyes,” Fingon said, voice almost breaking. Then he dropped down, taking Maedhros entirely into his mouth, and swallowing around him with a long, needy moan.

Maedhros shook his head, leaning forward, almost slipping off the couch at this angle, and every muscle tight. "Don't want to," he said. He couldn't imagine what this must look like, and the _feeling_ of everything without the aid of his eyes was just breathtaking. Fingon's mouth on him was hot, hot-hot, almost painfully hot, and he whined, legs kicking as he tried to draw away.

Fingon grabbed his hips, pinning him down with muscles that had gotten stronger over the past months of sparring. “Then don’t,” he murmured as he pulled back. “And if you want anything else, I do believe I would do anything for you in this moment if you but ask. Don’t hold back, my husband to be.” He bowed over Maedhros again, tracing the tip of his lover’s arousal with his tongue before swallowing him down.

"Can I?--" he panted, clutching at his trousers that were low on his thighs. "Can I move my hands?" he asked, hips working shallowly, all he could move.

“You may move your hands,” Fingon assured him as he pulled back to breath. “Would you touch, me arimelda? Or guide me? Or you can do anything else you wish. Now tell me, is the ice still there, or do you need more?” He traced his tongue along the underside of Maedhros’ arousal as he waited for an answer, how own hips rocking ceaselessly.

Maedhros rested his hands in Fingon's silky hair, just feeling it, not guiding, not yet. "It's gone," he whispered "but I don't want more ice," he said, afraid to say it. "Please? U-unless you want it."

“Hmm.” Fingon cocked his head, leaning forward to nuzzle against his lover. “I told you there would be more ice until you finished. And you haven’t come, arimeldanya. I suppose since you were so brave with this last time, you needn’t have any more down your trousers. You can agree to take a penalty instead--there will be something later in this day that you are agreeing to now should you choose this. He took a cube in each hand, rubbing up Maedhros’ sides as he took his lover into his mouth again. He popped back off momentarily as a new thought came to him. “But if you’re close, my beloved, it may be better to just take the ice.”

"No more, no more," Maedhros repeated. It was too--too much, too cold--and the humiliation was--well his trousers _had_ to be soaked through, and anything would be better than this. "Anything," he agreed, "I'll take the p-penalty, please," he said, trying to pull Fingon's mouth back onto his aching hardness.

Fingon dropped the ice, running the warmer backs of his hands along his cousin’s sides. He took Maedhros’ into his mouth, swallowing greedily around him and humming lowly. “Come on, finish for me beloved. Finish for me my prince,” he whispered when he pulled back for air. He watched Maedhros’ face as he was tugged back down, hands gripping his plaits roughly.

A few more thrusts and Maedhros was finishing, a quick spurt unlike the hard blast from before, and he managed not to cry out this time, and lay back with a groan, releasing Fingon's hair that he didn't realize he had been pulling so roughly. His eyes were still closed and his chest worked like a bellows.

Fingon pulled back suddenly, sprawling on his rear with his arms out to brace him and scrambling backward before he stumbled to his feet. "I didn't mean--I didn't think--why didn't you _say_?" He backed up to the door, looking at Maedhros with wide eyes. "I wouldn't--I would have stopped, Russ! I wasn't trying to make you do something you hated. I'll just... I'll be in our rooms. If you want me to leave them I understand I just. I'm so sorry." He fumbled with the door, stumbling into the hall and pulling it shut behind him (Maedhros deserved his privacy, and he certainly didn't need Fingon forcing his presence on him after... that).

Maedhros' eyes snapped open, and his stomach dropped. "Fin?" he called, but the door shut behind him, and he was alone, alone in a wet puddle in wet trousers and Fingon was _gone_. His ears burned hot with embarrassment for being strung out like this when Fingon was clearly not enjoying himself, even _upset_ with him. Unless this was part of the game? He didn't like it if so, and he scrambled to right his clothes, not caring that they were damp and cold (he felt damp and cold), and folding his arms across his chest he made his way immediately to their bedroom.

Rushing through the empty hall, Fingon turned their words over and over in him mind. At first he had been almost lost in pleasure and had not thought much of Maedhros’ words, but as his cousin spent and he was no longer moving his hands and focusing on multiple things, Fingon realized Russ had not _wanted_ what they were doing. But if Russ disliked it, why would he offer to continue? Did he think Fingon would truly enjoy making him do something he didn’t want? And they had agreed at the beginning of this day, hadn’t they, that Russ would state clearly if he wanted to change what they were doing?

Fingon threw open the door to their room, heading straight for the bathroom, closing the door, and splashing cold water across his face. When that wasn’t enough he turned the shower as cold as it would go and stripped, stepping into it and watching as his skin shrank into gooseflesh in discomfort. He should have realized something was wrong. He should have known to stop before Maedhros had to say anything. He should have been paying attention to his lover and not his own selfish needs. Eyes watering, Fingon grabbed a rough brush used more for feet than bodies and scrubbed himself until his skin was bright red in discomfort and the last remnants of arousal had vanished. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the washroom door and entered the main room.

Maedhros knocked at the door, but receiving no answer, entered, finding it unlocked. "Fin-no?" he called, timidly, hearing noises from the bathroom, and thought about going in, but instead sat to wait. When the water stopped and the door opened, Fingon emerged. Maedhros had expected anger. This was not it. And now his stomach dropped to his shoes, and he felt ill. Fingon was bright red and shivering, and looked near tears. "Finno!" he cried, aghast, and rushed to him.

Fingon looked up, eyes shining with unshed tears, and took an unconscious step back.

And Maedhros faltered, too, but only for half a second, little more than a flinch, before surging forward. "Telperion, Telperion, Finno," he said, "stop, I want to stop, come here." He pulled Fingon against him, bundling him up in his arms. "I'm sorry, Findekáno, I'm so sorry, I was--I didn't mean--" but he was actually at a loss for what he had done wrong--unless it was everything, and it probably was-- "Tell me how to fix this. I'm sorry. I love you," he said, crushing Fingon against him and running fingers through his hair, over his scrubbed-red skin, over the bruises he was now ashamed to have made.

“ _Now_ you say that,” Fingon said, and snorted miserably. “’m not playing a game, Russ.” He _was_ crying now damn it. He continued, voice rising to a shout, “And I wish in the name of all the Valar that you would stop apologizing for every single thing that happens with anyone in this insane, disturbed family!” He tried to curl in on himself, though he was trapped against his cousin’s stronger frame.

Maedhros gulped, feeling robbed of words if Fingon did not want to hear his apologies. "What do you mean? Tell me, please," he begged, "and don't pull away from me."

Fingon stared at him. “What do you think?” He tried to pull away again. “"I don't deserve--I don't want to hurt you Russandol! Didn't I already do enough?!" Didn’t I already do enough?!”

Maedhros gaped, letting go of Fingon as if he was suddenly red-hot. " _You_ do enough?" he repeated. "Wait, you mean, to me? Findekáno--" he reined in his emotions, and asked gently, carefully. "Talk to me, Findekáno. Please."

Fingon turned toward the window, stepping over to it and idly hoping that his betrothed had thought to lock their door. “What do you think,” he said, beyond tired suddenly. “I was a fool. Not intentionally malicious, but a thoughtless, faithless, stupid, idiot of a lover.” He couldn’t look at Maedhros right now. He wouldn’t. He bit his lip until he felt a drop of blood well up, and licked at it before continuing. “I shouldn't have left like that. I'm so sorry, Russandol. I'm an idiot. A terrified one... I don’t trust you to say Telperion,” he admitted. “And even if I did, you should never have to say it. I should be paying attention to you and be aware of you if you’ve gifted me with your body for a time. It was a precious gift, and regardless of what you think you are to be cherished as something peerless in all of Arda.”

Fingon shook his head, wiping away tears with both hands as he continued. “I thought the ice would be fun. And then when you suggested… Instead, I only truly realized when you were finishing that you didn’t like it. You didn’t help,” he added quickly. “If you were playing the game you wouldn’t have told me to stop. But if you didn’t like something we agreed you would say clearly that you didn’t like it and wanted to stop. Instead you said you’d continue if I wanted? Do you think I _want_ to do something you dislike? That I would take _pleasure_ in you hurting or being uncomfortable? In _forcing_ you?” He choked out the last and, giving up on his tears, wrapped his arms tightly around his own waist, hunching over.

Maedhros was shocked for many moments, unable to move, unable to speak. "Fin," he whispered, then, more forcefully. "Findekáno! Please--please look at me," he begged. "Let me hold you." He took Fingon's hands and turned him gently but firmly to face him. "You are entirely mistaken if you think I felt _forced_ in any way, at any point," he said. "You could never force me. I--" There were too many things to deal with here, and his head swirled, and his heart ached, and, "Let me hold you?" he said again, his own eyes brimming with tears. "We need to talk about this. Please, Finno. I love you. I will always love you. Let us go to the bed, and just talk."

Fingon nodded, exhausted and hurting where he’d rubbed his skin raw. He allowed Maedhros to guide him to the bed and onto it, and quietly moved where Maedhros’ wanted, and sat as Maedhros’ wanted, and let his cousin touch him and hold him in whatever way pleased him.

Not liking how pliant Fingon was in defeat, Maedhros still drew him to him, trying to gentle him, trying to warm him. "I did not dislike anything about what we did. I was--uncomfortable, at times, but you were not forcing me at any point. I imagined--I thought--" He stopped, started again: "This is part of a larger problem, I think." He was trembling slightly.

Fingon looked at him questioningly, and tugged his towel up where it had begun to drop off his hips. Unconsciously, he leaned into the warmth Maedhros’ provided, quietly appreciating his cousin’s warm hands. And then he thought of ice and hated himself more, shivering lightly.

"The, ah, game--I am sorry I ever put you to it, just to--to feed my baser desires." He squeezed Fingon too hard, briefly, before gentling his touch. "You said you do not trust me to say 'Telperion', and that you should have known before I got to that point. C-can you tell me? Why?"

“Because you _don’t_ tell me when you don’t like things.” Fingon looked down at his feet. “Maybe I yell at you, which is less than kind on my part, but at least I let you know when something is wrong. You would do just about anything to please anyone. And I love that you care so much for others, I love the way you care for your brothers and cousins, but sometimes I truly, deeply despise that about you.” He looked up at his lover. “You tried to tell--you _told_ my father you would break off our betrothal if he wanted you to, and this after he slapped you and grabbed me and made a general fool of himself. Is it so surprising that I was concerned you wouldn’t tell me you wanted to stop something?”

Fingon shook his head. “And even without that, it shouldn’t come to that. You shouldn’t _have_ to say it. Because I should be focused on you. Because if my lover is not enjoying himself, if he’s disliking what we’re doing, I shouldn’t be blind to that. I should recognize that there is a problem and adjust what we’re doing or change what we’re doing or flat out _stop_ what we’re doing. I--we wouldn’t do something like this, I don’t think we would Russ, but if you or I were in pain and unhappy and completely forgot our word to stop, I would hope the other person would realize something was very wrong and put a stop to things anyway. That word may let me know you want things to end, but it shouldn’t be required to stop an idea, a game, that fails.”

"But I _did_ enjoy it!" Maedhros pulled Fingon tight against him. "I am so sorry, Findekáno. So, so deeply sorry--and I am not just saying that. If you--" he almost died of shame here, "if you never believed me before, believe this now. I love you, and I am sorry for--for kowtowing to your father when I should not have, yes, and sorry for not making my feelings clear. For not making the game clear. You were perfectly attentive to my needs. You should not blame yourself for my failure to communicate. And you _must_ know that I was never in any actual distress. Discomfort, yes, which I still found erotic. If I was in pain I know you would have known. _I trust you_ to have known."

“But I didn’t."

"Because I wasn't!" Maedhros interrupted.

"I wasn’t sure. And if I ever truly hurt you I would _never_ forgive myself.” Fingon shook his head. “The thought of it terrifies me, Russandol.” I wonder if you’d be better off without me, he didn’t say. “I… I don’t know. After we’re bonded we’ll understand, we’ll know--but for now, I _can’t_ hurt you on accident. I cannot.” He sniffed. “And what did I tell you about blaming yourself?”

Maedhros turned Fingon's face to meet his. "Then in this I am defying you. Furthermore, I do not believe you. Findekáno, I trust you with my very life, but I also trust you with my happiness and my comfort. If--if you would like to wait until we are bonded to play such a game again--or if you would rather never--I would happily do so. But I think we might both enjoy ourselves more with a simple rule change. We can talk about that some other time. I want you to know that I will never let you hurt me: I know such a thing would upset you more than you could ever possibly injure me, and it is for that reason--for you must trust my love for you if you do not trust me to worry about myself--that I vow to keep myself safe in your hands. For I trust you where you do not trust yourself." He rubbed soothing circles in Fingon's back.

Fingon’s eyes drifted shut and he leaned into Maedhros’ hands. “What rule change?” he asked. If only everything could be so simple--a few words and all his worries, or at least most of them, gone. “What would you have us do?”

"I was afraid to say my word, afraid to end the game," Maedhros admitted. "You had that correct. I did not want it to stop, I did not want us to stop. Any 'no' I said was, I thought, part of the game. Otherwise, why have any other word to mean 'no'?" After letting Fingon think about this, "I was thinking, something to mean a 'slow down' or 'stop this particular thing' word. I would have no fear of using this word. Personally."

“That… that would be good. I would like that very much. Perhaps, before we head out we can come up with something?” Fingon ducked his head, fiddling with the edge of his towel. When he spoke next his voice was soft and small. “I’m… I’m very cold. Would you hold me?”

Maedhros released a giddy breath of relief, and rolled over, pressing Fingon to the mattress beneath him, blanketing his cousin's body with his own. "Is this better, meldanya? And--m-may I kiss you?"

“Please,” Fingon whispered, nodding. “Thank you. This feels… much better.” He raised his head slightly, offering his lips.

Maedhros kissed him, gently at first. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?" he whispered, searching Fingon's face.

“You need to pick out a word to slow down. And… just assume I’m stupid and _tell_ me when you don’t want something. Or if you want something.” Fingon’s eyes shifted to the side. “I had such plans for the day; Valar, but I’m a fool. And are--are you alright? I left you, and you looked like you were well, but when I got out of the shower… I was worried, and--did something happen before you reached our room?”

"No, no, I'm fine, Findekáno, I mean _really_ fine," here he chuckled, "except my trousers are damp. I would, however, ask that you not leave me again like that," he said, taking Fingon's hands in his and warming them, and kissing his knuckles. "And _please_ I do beg you to carry out your plans for the day, if you still want to. I promise to tell you if I am uncomfortable or unhappy. Telperion I will name if I want something to stop, and Laurelin if I want things to slow." Here he gave Fingon a hard look. "You must trust me to use these if I need them--otherwise this won't work. Just as I must trust you to abide by them, and by your own judgment, and to not take it to heart if I ask you to slow down or stop." He kissed Fingon between the eyes. "Are we clear on these points?"

“You’re clear. And I will try to do ask you ask. Just… please don’t tell me to stop lightly. Even without the word I may do so, until we are bonded. I… thinking you don’t want something isn’t pleasant or exciting or fun. And I would rather have you annoyed that I ended something early than questioning my judgment or tastes--I know you will say you would not, but… I’m not sure I can bear taking that risk. I’m sorry.” He turned his face into the pillow. “And I’m still cold,” he muttered.

"I promise," Maedhros vowed, kissing Fingon again and pulling the blankets over them, snatching the wet towel from around Fingon's waist and throwing it on the floor. "I had the same fear when you left me alone. I thought--here was this thing I had enjoyment of, and Findekáno did not enjoy it at all--he hated it enough to leave--this is what I feared, so I understand, and I will not take your request lightly." The rest, how he took pleasure from suffering for his love, and other complicated desires he had not fully negotiated himself yet, those could wait. "We will do only what we both are fully comfortable with, so no risks are taken." He kissed Fingon's cheek and wrapped him in his arms. "Would you like to take a warm bath together? Or sit in the sun? Or just stay right here?" he asked.

“Ah--” Fingon hesitated, having made so many decisions today rather than being offered choices Maedhros had already thought out. There was something nice about this; he could see why Maedhros had enjoyed it. “I would like to ride out with you, but not quite yet. Either stay here, or a bath? Which would you prefer, Russ?”

"Both," Maedhros said with a shy smile. "That way I get to have my arms around you the longer. And then we will see what kind of lotion we can put on your skin where you scrubbed too hard." He kissed Fingon's lips. "And then we will ride out, and the game will begin again, if you wish. I know I do." He shifted slightly to slide his arm beneath Fingon's head, and made himself comfortable. "Now, if you would close your eyes for me," he said, "and relax, and perhaps try to take a short nap for me, I will sing to you. Would you like that, arimeldanya, melindo?"

“It sounds perfect.” Fingon relaxed in his lover’s arms, closing his eyes. Even before Maedhros began singing, Fingon’s breathing deepened and he found himself calming further. “Thank you for everything,” he whispered. “Especially for putting up with me. I am so sorry I scared you earlier.”

"I don't put up with you," Maedhros corrected. "Rather everything is centered around you.  My entire world revolves around you." He kissed Fingon and shrugged off the worry. "I am sorry I scared you, too," he said softly, and then hummed a long note to find key. When he found it, he almost didn't bother to sing the words (they were of enduring love, but between ner and nís, and it affected the rhyme if he made it about them), but hummed and mumbled his way through it.  Nor was his singing noteworthy, not like Maglor's, but it put the children to sleep.

Fingon nestled closer as Maedhros hummed, arms sliding around to hold him tightly. And even as he drifted off, he neither released nor loosened his hold on his lover. When he blinked awake some time later, he was clinging to Maedhros with arm and leg, pressed against him to create as much contact as possible. “Russ?” he whispered, shifting slightly and trying to see if Maedhros was awake.

"Darling," Maedhros responded immediately, softly. His hands wandered, touching Fingon under his arm, at his neck, and between his legs. "Are you warm? Would you still enjoy a quick bath with me?" He kissed Fingon's eyes and pressed their cheeks together (Fingon's nose was still cold).

“I’m alright,” Fingon murmured, nuzzling against him. “Warmer than before. Comfortable where you’re touching me. Still a bit cold though; I may have overdone it earlier.” He squeezed Maedhros and shifted his head, rubbing their cheeks against each other. “I would greatly enjoy a warm bath with you--even a hot one, if you are willing.” He pulled back slightly and pressed their lips together, stealing heat from his lover’s skin. “Thank you. Thank you for forgiving me, for taking care of me, for warming me, for loving me. Thank you for coming after me and talking. You are my world, arimeldanya Russandol. And I love you dearly.” He hadn't responded to Maedhros' beautiful words as he fell asleep, but Fingon promised himself he would try to make up for that oversight throughout the rest of the day.

Maedhros wanted to be angry with him for hurting himself, but Fingon sounded so sad and sorry that he couldn't bring himself to--also it sounded a bit hypocritical after all that, so he kissed Fingon and gathered him into his arms, blanket and all, and bundling him up carefully. "Oof," he said as he lifted him, "I keep imagining you'll be as light as you were when you were small, and you're not," he said, smiling sheepishly. "But you are not too heavy," he added with a quick kiss, and brought him into the washroom. There he took a knee by the tub, setting Fingon on that knee, and running hot water. "You know I never got to clean up this morning," he said, kissing Fingon's neck, "so this will be nice."

“It will,” Fingon agreed, humming contentedly. He lifted a hand to brush Maedhros’ hair behind his ears and watched him as he worked. “Arimeldanya,” he said quietly. “I am _truly_ sorry. I’m supposed to be taking care of you today, and yet here you are fixing things and caring for me again.” He hesitated. “Tonight, or some other night soon, I promise that I will take the time to pamper you, to treat you closer to how you deserve to be treated, even if I fall short of the mark.” He sighed at the heat coming up from the tub and dipped a hand into the hot water. With a small smile, Fingon leaned against his lover, letting his eyes slip shut again and trusting that Maedhros would take are of things and look after them both. "Russandol, I love thee."

Maedhros rested his fingers over Fingon's neck, pressing him closer, ghosting a thumb over the side of his face. "And I love thee, Findekáno, tenn' ambar-metta." He squeezed him. "But _I_ lost the bet, remember," he said with a soft smile. "That means I should pamper and take care of you, should I not?" He slipped his hand between Fingon's legs again, but this time, not to check his temperature. "Here, let's get you into the bath," he said, peeling the blanket from around his cousin's shoulders and helping him in before he began to undress himself. "Not too hot?" he checked as he drew his shirt over his head.

"Perfect," Fingon sighed, sinking lower into the steaming water until his neck and head alone broke the surface. "Well, only nearly perfect since you aren't in yet." He grinned at Maedhros as he watched his lover undress. "So, from what you just said, when you are 'king for a day' will you let me pamper and please you?" Fingon reached out to Maedhros as his lover finished stripping. "I miss you already arimeldanya. Join me?"

"I will," Maedhros answered, with a smile-- "to both." He slipped into the bath behind Fingon, hissing at the heat but relaxing as it eased his musces, though he was not truly comfortable until Fingon settled back against him. "And so I expect you to ensure I make you happy--I appreciate you telling me what to do, what you want. And--Finno," he said, craning his neck around to look Fingon in the eye. "As strange as it sounds, I do quite like suffering for you, in manageable, playful doses. So _please_ do not fear for my enjoyment." He kissed the side of Fingon's neck. "Does that make sense?"

Fingon thought about the almost intoxicating humiliation of telling Maedhros he could put him over his knee, and the euphoric bliss that came somewhere in the middle of his time on Maedhros' lap. He remembered blushing and sobbing and rising eagerly into the next blow, and he thought perhaps he understood, or at least understood something similar, for he had never wanted Maedhros to stop, never begged him to end his pleasurable torment. Perhaps Maedhros was simply more careful with him than he with Russ.

"I think I understand at least a little. And I will respect you enough to trust what you are telling me now." Fingon stroked his lover's cheek and tilted his neck to give Maedhros greater access. "Just remember to tell me if I go to far." He turned and kissed Maedhros. "And then, soon, we will bond and it shall be as though we are doing everything for the first time again. I will share your desires and your pleasure, and will have no reason to fear going too far, for everything we do will be done together, both giving and receiving at once."

"I swear it, Findekáno," Maedhros breathed, ghosting his lips over Fingon's jawline. "I already told you that keeping myself safe is, I know, integral to your happiness, and I would never jeopardize that." He wrapped his arms around Fingon and held him tight. "And when we are bonded--" he sighed happily. "Then I will have every part of you, and you will have every part of me, and I will not know or care where I end and where you begin, for there will only be 'us.' And we will never fear to hurt or displease the other, not when we are attentive." He kissed Fingon's temple, and laid his hand over his sex, stroking absently. "But until then, you must know that I do not mind the risk. I would risk more, I would risk all, for your love."

"And I will give anything in my power to keep you. I love you my light, my world, my soon husband." Fingon shivered at the final title and in part from Maedhros' teasing strokes. "Mmm. That feels nice." He nested back against Maedhros, resting a hand on his lover's upper arm and tracing his fingers over the skin lightly.

"Now," Maedhros whispered, hot in Fingon's ear as his strokes grew firmer, though no quicker, "how might I give you pleasure, melindo?" He asked, nibbling on the point of Fingon's ear.

"Touch me," Fingon said. "And hold me. Kiss me." His breath hitched. "Desire me also, and please yourself as well--rub yourself along my rear or between my thighs. Let me feel you. Such things would please me greatly."

"Then I need you to get up for me," Maedhros whispered, lifting Fingon off his lap. "Forward on your knees," he said, arranging Fingon carefully and comfortably: "Arms on the edge of the tub, chin on your arms, just like that, good. So beautiful," he went on, and kissed Fingon's shoulder. "Knees together, I'm going to slide between your legs and enjoy you, and I'm going to touch you with my hands and pleasure you. Is this good?" he checked.

Fingon's shivers had nothing to do with cold. "Good. Perfect," he moaned, nodding. "Please, beloved, please arimeldanya, I would feel thee. Just as you described." Fingon moved as Maedhros had directed, body trembling as he shifted his legs.

"Love this, love you. Never going to let you go," Maedhros said, settling himself over top of and behind Fingon, nudging the drain with his foot so it let some of the water out (knowing it would splash). "Give you everything. You _are_ my everything." He cupped his hand around Fingon's sex and returned to his previous slow but steady rhythm. "Want to open you up and slide inside you, want to feel you open for me," he whispered, kissing and teething along Fingon's neck and shoulder. "Like this, in the bath, where everything's warm and soft and easy."

Fingon nodded into his arms. "I promise. Whenever you want, we'll do that. As often as you ask for it. I'll be soft and open and you'll just slide in. I want all of you in me, my prince, and my body will welcome you. Want to feel your skin pressing against me when I've taken all of you and you can go no deeper." He whimpered as Maedhros' found a tender spot on his neck. "And-- and I want your hand," Fingon added suddenly. "Like this, when it's soft and easy sometime, when we're wet and warm and relaxed, I think I want your hand in me Russ."

"Yes, yes," Maedhros sighed, springing to full hardness at Findekáno's words, and he slid so easily between his thighs he might have believed him. "I love you. I love you so much, Finno," he panted, speeding up his thrusts and his hand. "You think you could take my whole hand--up to the wrist?"

"Oh! Oh, yes, Russ! Tyë mein, tenn’ ambar-metta, my Russandol." Fingon breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth trying to control himself. "For you--for you I could! All the way to your wrist." His hips jolted. "Want you inside me. Want you so deep I forget where I end and you begin. Would you like that? Would you do that for me-- let me take your whole hand, and move it around inside me?"

"Shh, shh, Finno," Maedhros said, "I've got you. When you take my hand into you, I'll drive you so mad you'll be blind with it. Blind and breathless and wanton for me. You'll be mine already but like this you'll _feel_ like mine." He bit into the meat of Fingon's shoulder to muffle his own groans, his hand pumping swiftly.

“Already yours.” Fingon’s head was rolling back and forth on his arm as he whimpered. “Already _feel_ like yours. Never want this to end-- I always want to feel this, Russ. Always want to feel like this. Tyë-melin Arimeldanya. With all that I am.” He kept his arms where Maedhros’ had placed them on the edge of the tub, and his legs were pinned by his cousin’s, but Fingon shifted back and forth as much as he could, thrusting into Maedhros’ hand and trying to move back into his lover’s thrusts.

"It's only going to be better," Maedhros gasped, his own need making his thrusts irregular and quick, though he was determined that Fingon should finish first. "Do not say you always want this, because so soon it will be _better_. Think of that, Finno think of better, and tell me."

“Better?” Fingon mewled, voice breaking. “Better will be having you in me, truly in me. And being inside you so deep it will feel like we’ll never be separated. Better will be sharing our thoughts, feelings, desires, even though I’m scared. It will be like jumping off a ledge together and then realizing we can fly.” His arms tensed and water sloshed out of the tub as their movements increased. “Better is being joined, hroa and fea, both physically and by our oaths. I want to be bonded with you.” Fingon was almost crying with the sensations of warm water and warmer Russ and his tender, tender skin. “Everyone knows now. Everyone approves. Wish I could bond with you tonight. Wish we could do so even now. Wish you could just slip a little further back and push in; keep pressing until you’re buried to the hilt and just let me _take_ you.”

"Uhhh, Finn--" Maedhros panted, twisting his fingers, trying to draw Fingon to the edge he so precariously placed him on. "Yes, Finno," he sighed, and kissed Fingon's shoulder and bit his ear. "Wish, but wait, wait, think of how it will feel, how happy you will make me, how _good_ it will feel--we'll go to our place, remember? Our mountain peak, and _there_ there under the stars I'll make you mine and you will make me yours, until we lie exhausted in each other's arms. That would be better. Think on better, now, and come for me."

“Russ! OhRussRussRussss!” Fingon gasped, and shook, and spent. Sweat was dripping down his eyes, and he felt warm through finally, warmer even then the water around them. Warmer than everything except Russ who was strong and solid and /burning/ behind him. “Please,” he begged, trying to stay upright even as his body tried to collapse. “Please finish. Please spend for me. Please, arimelda, please.”

"As you--ahh--wiish--" Maedhros said, but he was already spending himself in the channel between Fingon's legs, with a cry he muffled in Fingon's hair. As his hips stuttered to a stop, he did not let himself fall forward as he wished, but instead pulled Fingon back, and he collapsed with a splash with Fingon on top of him. Holding his lover in his arms, Maedhros kissed him, and they lay together, wet, warm, breathless, and sated, in the half-full tub.

Fingon reached up with one hand, turning the faucet back on to add a little more hot water to the cooling bath. “Russ. I love you. I love you, love you, love you.” He relaxed completely, limbs drifting slightly in the water. “Thank you Russandol. You make me feel so safe and so loved. And I eagerly await our bonding. It’s so close now… and somehow that makes the time seem to move ever more slowly.”

"Ahh, you're right there," Maedhros laughed, kissing Fingon's temple. "But I think it will make our union all the sweeter." He trailed droplets of water over Fingon's shoulder. "Now what else did we have planned for the day? But a word from you and I would stay here with you all day."

“You tempt me, beloved. A word from you and I may agree to do so. But we should talk to Ingoldo, and let our mothers know that Turukáno is their volunteer,” Fingon smirked at the last. “I would like to go for a ride out to the pond a few miles to the east, if you are willing. Perhaps visit the library. And if I may be entirely selfish… tonight I would like to do your hair and to have you do mine. And I would like us to relax in each other’s arms and to care for each other.” Fingon shrugged. “Other small things may connect to those, but that covers the main points. Was there anything else you can think of that we should do today? Oh, and… um… we should speak with my father, perhaps.” Fingon’s voice lost its enthusiasm at the thought. “Maybe let him see our rings; he didn’t get a chance to look at them yesterday.”

"Yes. Findarato, mothers, pond, library, Nolofinwë. The list is not exhaustive, but those are the main points. I will be rewarded with an evening with you." He planted a kiss on Fingon's brow. "Good?" He sat up, pulling Fingon up with him.

Fingon groaned but allowed his lover to pull him up. "Keep me warm?" he asked, leaning against Maedhros as he stepped out of the bath.

"Always," Maedhros said, warming him with his hands and pulling a fresh towel across his shoulders. "We'll have to do something about your hair," he added, giving it a rough dry before taking a towel for himself. He dried himself and his hair hastily before slinging the towel around his waist. Finally, he took up a hairbrush and scooped Fingon into his arms. "I'll be quick, but I want to sit you in the sun while I tie back your hair."

"Anything," Fingon said, laughing. "If that is your wish, then we shall sneak out and find a place by the lake under a bright sky where you can play with my hair to your heart's content." He leaned up to kiss Maedhros. "Do you remember the day after your brothers found out--well, Kano and Moryo, that is? We sat by the lake and you tried to plait my hair in something ridiculously complex." He snuck another kiss, wrapping an arm around his lover's neck. "And you got… a quarter of the way through? Before giving up." He tucked a loose bit of hair behind Maedhros' ear, tracing the edge of it delicately and continuing to brush his fingertips along his lover's jaw.

Maedhros laughed into the kiss, prying Fingon back. "Well I only mean I want to deal with it before it dries. I'll brush it out properly and take my time with it tonight--or, as you say, at least I'll try," he chuckled, turning Fingon around and sliding his knees around Fingon's hips. "Now hold still," he said as he brushed out the worst of the tangles.

“Fine, fine.” Fingon stilled himself for a time, but as he felt Maedhros running the brush through practically untangled sections he began to shift, moving his hands back and rubbing along his lover’s thighs, squeezing as he moved higher up each leg, inching up the towel and dipping his fingers between his lover’s skin and his own. “How can I do anything when I am married to you Russandol? Already you steal all my thoughts and leave my mind full of you alone.” He turned his head to glance back at Maedhros. “Already I yearn for you, I desire you, and even if my hröa is not yet capable my mind and my fëa are more than willing, and overflow with countless thoughts of you. Will you grant me a small kiss?”

"I will grant you a very big one if you wait," Maedhros said with a grin, continuing to brush his lover's hair. "Or--" here he paused, and grinned. "Well I suppose you could _order_ me to, order me to kiss you until you were satisfied--and it would hardly be a chore for me--" he teased, "but your hair would be a mess."

“Kiss me, melindo. Kiss me soundly and thoroughly. Kiss me until we are forced to part for want of air…. then finish my hair and we can head out to find that soft patch of grass in the sun.” Fingon’s voice steadied the further he progressed in his directions, and at the end he closed his eyes and waited for Maedhros.

"As you wish, melindo," Maedhros said, setting the brush aside and craning his neck around to kiss Fingon deeply, filthily. He took hold of the back of his neck, fingers tangling in wet hair. He didn't stop even when he needed air, pressing Fingon to the bed, and straddling his hips, and their tongues slid together, teeth clicking, mouths sucking until Fingon gave a small noise of--not quite defeat--but alarm--and Maedhros pulled back, gasping. "Was that enough for you, my love?" he asked, grinning.

“I--it--never.” Fingon shook his head. “But for now, I suppose, it is enough.” Against his words leaned in again, stealing another quick kiss. “My hair, if you would?” He turned placidly, allowing Maedhros to continue working with his hair. Fingon kept his head still, but he went back to playing with Maedhros’ towel, fingers inching up his cousin’s thighs and sneaking under the damp cloth.

Maedhros giggled helplessly, but he couldn't let Fingon's hair go at this stage, so Fingon's hands wandered where they would. "Are you going to make me uncomfortable again before we leave?" he asked.

“Would you be upset if I was?” His fingers stilled, though, and he settled them just above Maedhros’ knees, squeezing slightly. “Please tell me you’re almost finished, Russandol. I would prefer to be able to see you.”

"I would be disappointed if you weren't," he admitted, and, "almost, almost done," he said, tying off the wet twists at the nape of his neck. "There. Finished." He dropped his hands in his lap and sat back, waiting.

Fingon turned, wrapping his legs around Maedhros’ waist and pulling him in for a deep, searching kiss. “I love you,” he whispered. “Shall we go in search of sunlight and the lake?”

Maedhros beamed. "Please," he said, getting to his feet and searching for his clothes.

Fingon found clean riding clothing and pulled it on, eyes wandering to Maedhros as his cousin dressed. “Ready, beloved?” At his lover’s nod they left, stopping at the kitchen to grab waterskins and snacks before heading to the stables.

Maedhros swung himself up onto his huge charger as Fingon pulled himself onto his horse. "You lead, I'll follow," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

When they were out of sight of the house Fingon slowed his horse, and stopped them on a green field. He slid off his mount, and leaned close to the horse, quietly asking the animal to stay with them as they continued.

Maedhros slowed his horse, circling where Fingon had dismounted. "Everything all right, Finno? What are we doing?"

“We’re going. Just stop for a moment, please?” Fingon walked up to his cousin’s horse and lightly mounted behind Maedhros. He pressed himself along Maedhros’ back from his shoulders to his hips, and wrapped his arms securely around his lover’s waist. “There. I think I would prefer to ride _with_ you. Perhaps a canter, and we can head for the lake?”

Maedhros grinned broadly. "All right, hold on tight," he said, and urged his horse the long way around to the lake. Having Fingon behind him was delicious, and he reached back with one arm to grab his thigh and hold him closer.

“Russ,” Fingon murmured, canting his hips forward. “Careful, lest you unleash something you do not intend. Valar. Riding like this for a distance would soon turn to a glorious torture.” He shift, and slid a hand down to adjust himself before pressing against his lover again.

"Mm, but perhaps I want to unleash it," Maedhros said, grinding back. "This is quite comfortable. Delicious."

Fingon lowered one of his hands, sliding it inside his lover’s trousers to wrap around flesh that was slowly gaining interest in their activities. “Comfortable? Perhaps. Tell me, can you imagine how this would feel if there was naught but skin between us? Would you enjoy that?”

Maedhros flinched, but did not let go of the bridle. "I--ahh--well, with all the bouncing, it might be dangerous. Perhaps with thinner trousers, though," he grinned. "You should really ride in front, because I'm taller."

“Aww, but Russ, then I wouldn’t be able to do this.” Fingon squeezed his cousin lightly, relishing the gasp the action elicited. “And we’re almost to the lake. Hmm, thinner trousers? What about my sheer outfit you so like? Would that be acceptable at some future date?”

"Mm--yes," Maedhros groaned, trying to fold over and squirming against the poor horse. "Yes, that would be--yes. You're so beautiful in that, Fin--" he laughed, "why'd you have to make me think of that?" he teased, breathless.

Fingon groaned into his lover’s shoulder, the arm around his lover’s stomach squeezing Maedhros tighter. Fingon thrust against him as he squirmed. “It was such a lovely thought, melda, how could I not share it?” He nipped at Maedhros’ neck. He could grasp his betrothed as they currently were, but he could not slide his hand against him. Fingon carefully pulled his hand out of his cousin’s trousers, loosening the laces before lifting his hand to Maedhros’ face. “Here. I can’t stroke you like this. Lick.”

Maedhros breathed in his scent, almost put off by it, on Fingon's hand, but he forced some wetness from his dry mouth and stuck his tongue out, which Fingon rubbed against the palm of his hand, and Maedhros sucked his fingers down. _This_ , now this felt good, and whined his approval before he had the sense to look around. "Wait, what if someone sees," he protested blurrily. As if on cue, his horse turned around and seemed almost to roll her eyes at the shenanigans that were going on behind her back.

"Hush, melda. We can't be seen from the house, and the hunting group will be riding in the opposite direction making for the woods." Fingon nudged the horse with his legs and they continued moving. He slipped the hand Maedhros had wet back into his lover's trousers, and this time could slide it slightly along his length. "What do you think, arimeldanya?" Fingon whispered, continuing to rock his hips gently. "Shall we ride like this after our wedding? It would be a very--ah--pleasant way to spend part of the journey."

"Uhh--uh-huh," Maedhros nodded, words stolen, and he white knuckled the bridle but was no longer guiding their horse at all. "Yes, please," he managed, breath hitching. "D-dunno how far we'd get, though," he smirked, hips rocking in time with Fingon's.

"Russ!" Fingon hissed as his hips were met by an opposing movement as Maedhros thrust back against him. "I think it'd almost be worth it," he muttered. Fingon twisted his hand around his lover in retaliation, speeding up his movements until his hand began to dry and continuing would be less than comfortable for Maedhros. "More," he demanded, bringing his palm to his lover's mouth.

Maedhros licked Fingon's hand obediently, letting the horse take them where she would, "Of course it would be worth it," he gasped as Fingon slid his hands down his trousers again: "Uhhh, Finnoooo," he moaned, hopelessly aroused now.

"What, my prince?" Fingon shifted his hands, moving one to cup his lover's sac while the other began a fast, twisting rhythm over Maedhros' length. "Russ," Fingon growled, pressing his own arousal against Maedhros. He rocked forward, hard, and his cousin was pushed higher on the horse's back. He closed his eyes, burying his face in Maedhros' neck.

Maedhros whined, digging his fingers into Fingon's thigh. Fingon's breath on his neck was electrifying his spine. "We should--we should stop--" he gasped. The horse was getting edgy (ashamed, more likely), and at this rate they were likely to fall off. "I am yours to, please you in any way I might, but please, let us get down from here."

"You're no fun. Not ashamed of me, are you Russ?" Fingon asked the question lightly and whistled. He removed his hands, not bothering to fix his lover's trousers, and slid off Maedhros' horse, mounting his own. "Let's finish getting to the lake, then. We're almost there." He paused, thinking. "You said _we_ should stop, so you're going to continue alone. Pull yourself out of your trousers, Russ. I want to see one hand wrapped around you until we dismount."

" _Out_?" Maedhros repeated dumbly, and swallowed. Taking hold of the reins with his left hand, he pulled himself out with his right, in full few of Fingon and anyone else who was watching, and held himself at the base, willing himself not to be any further aroused by any of this (Fingon's power over him, not to mention the battering his balls were getting at this pace). "L-like this?" he asked, subconsciously hunching over as he tried to hide himself from view.

"You're a mighty prince of Finwë's firstborn's line," Fingon said, voice dry. "Don't slouch. You have every reason to be proud." The last he added softly and fondly. Fingon circled his horse around Maedhros, looking at him appraisingly. "Better. I want to say good, but it's kind of boring, what you're doing. Try to stroke yourself a little." Fingon looked ahead and smiled. "Almost there, melda. I can already see the lake. You're doing very well, arimeldanya."

Huffing a resigned sigh (though he also smiled shyly at Fingon's praise), Maedhros squared his shoulders and fixed his eyes on a point between his horse's ears. He nodded, for he could see the edge of the lake now, too, and stroked himself, firmly but slowly, biting his lip but otherwise keeping his eyes fixed ahead. After a few careful breath to calm himself, he looked to Fingon and smiled. "Does this please you better, my lord melindo?"

"It does. I am very well pleased, my beloved prince. And I quite like that title, arimeldanya." Fingon smiled at him. "How do you feel, darling? Tell me what you're thinking about right now." Fingon clenched a fist in his lap as they rode, aroused beyond thought at Maedhros' shyness, at the way he moved at Fingon's command, and at the focused look with threads of pleasure shining through it that covered his cousin's face.

"Ah--" Maedhros flushed: "I'm trying not to think about anything," he admitted. "I'm thinking about--how I wish this was your hand, how I liked that better. I am thinking about how lucky I am to have your love, and how wonderful it feels to have your attention. I am thinking about how deeply I enjoy being yours to command." Here his breath caught as he stroked himself, and he grinned wickedly: "And I confess I am thinking of revenge."

Fingon's breath hitched and he groaned at the thought. "Revenge?" he asked. "Just for not allowing you to cover up your radiance and hide? I should ask you what you are planning since you answered my question so vaguely. A little ways around it, do you think?" They had reached the shore of the lake. "Between some stands of trees where there's soft grass and nearby shade." Their horses were side by side, walking at a leisurely pace along the lake's edge, and Fingon leaned over to brush his hand over the tip of Maedhros' arousal. "You are wicked, my love. I do all this with the intention of making you mindless with pleasure, and you focus on thoughts of revenge?"

"Well--I say revenge," he stammered, "but I mean only to repay you in k-kind. Except I am far too jealous a lover to risk any other eyes falling on you in nakedness and pleasure but my own--so you need not fear any exhibitionism from me," he said, teasing pointedly. He shifted on the back of his horse. "Mm-may I--ah--Finno, I'm close," he said suddenly.

The spot they were at was as good as any other, and Fingon dismounted, gesturing for Maedhros to do the same and steadying him as he stood. "Soon. Soon arimelda, I promise. Come on, a little further." He grabbed Maedhros' hand, urging him under the slight cover of a willow close to the shore. Under it's branches he stopped, and sank to his knees facing his lover. He placed Maedhros' hands in his hair to pet or guide or control, and looked up. "I love you," he said clearly, and wrapped his arms around Maedhros' waist, bending his head and taking him to the root.

Maedhros cried out, all but falling against the tree with the sudden stimulation, holding tight to Fingon's hair and guiding him--at first--gently. If he had been close before, this left him teetering on the edge, suddenly and dizzily, and he threw his head back, biting his lip. "Uhh, Fin, so good, so good to me. L-love--you."

Fingon moaned around him, hand shifting to massage the globes of his rear. And he ached to be bonded with Maedhros- to be able to speak without words, without having to let go. For now, he pulled off with an almost pained moan. "Love you. Always, forever. Please, please finish for me Russ. Whenever you want. You can let go." And then he was descending again, savoring the taste and the feel of his lover. He swallowed around Maedhros and squeezed with both hands, moaning low in his throat.

It wasn't long--it was embarrassingly quickly, actually--before Maedhros was finishing, as hot and desperate as if he hadn't already lost count of how many times he had made love to Fingon today. His legs were weak and he slid down the tree to meet Fingon on his knees, pulling him into a kiss that was just as desperate.

"A-ahh-Russandol, oh my Russ. Beloved." Fingon held Maedhros steady as they embraced, eagerly opening his arms and lips, yielding to Maedhros' kiss until he could stand it no longer and began to sneak his tongue into his lover's mouth in turn. "Love this. Love you." He hurt, and was hard and aching in his trousers, but Fingon thought he could stay just like this forever. For as long as Maedhros wanted. And for now his own need was as nothing next to Maedhros' pleasure, which Fingon craved more than his own, especially now, especially after earlier when he had been so scared that everything had gone wrong. He sighed against Maedhros' lips and held his cousin more tightly against his chest.

Before he knew it, Maedhros had pushed Fingon flat on his back and was on top of him, kissing him and threading his fingers through his hair, grinding his knee (though he was still shaking) between Fingon's legs. When he broke for air, "Let me serve you," be begged, in between kissing across his cheek and neck. "Tell me how I might love you, my lord melindo. Let me prove to you my complete devotion."

Fingon shook his head, hands tenderly tracing across Maedhros' skin as he rocked against his lover's knee. "You already have. You have arimeldanya. Every day. And just now--what greater show of trust and love could I ask?" He pressed against Maedhros, shaking. "This is--is more than enough. But… if you would, beloved, your-- your mouth on mine, and down my body. And then your mouth and your tongue, on me or in me. Would you?"

"I wait only on your permission, melindo," Maedhros whispered, kissing Fingon again before beginning his journey down his body, unclasping each clasp in his shirt to kiss a new spot lower and lower. His hands remained in Fingon's hair until the last possible moment, and then they traced down his neck and chest. "Suck on my fingers, would you?" he breathed as he began to unfasten the ties on Fingon's trousers.

“Nanyë tyënya,” he whispered. “I am yours.” Fingon cradled Maedhros’ hand with his own, lathing his palm and fingers with his mouth before taking them in. He sucked on them and traced across them with his tongue, mimicking what he had done earlier to his lover.

Maedhros moaned: that shouldn't be as erotic as it was, but watching Fingon's lips close about his fingers, feeling his tongue dance around and between them, it was--just--it was something he wanted to mimic, so as he freed Fingon from his trousers and finished kissing down to meet him, he took Fingon's sex in his mouth. He tried to match Fingon's rhythm, and judging by the noises his cousin was making--and when he faltered--he was succeeding. He withdrew his fingers once they were sufficiently moistened and teased briefly at his entrance before pressing into him with one digit.

“’S nice, Russ. Feels so good.” Fingon was trembling already, and couldn’t stop the soft sounds pouring from his mouth. He could feel the cool grass before him, and see the willow branches above him, and everywhere else was Maedhros- his hands, his mouth, his breath, his body, the sound of his breaths as he pulled back for air. “I love you. Please-- a kiss?” Fingon curled forward to catch Maedhros’ mouth again.

Maedhros obliged immediately, pulling off Fingon with a sucking sound and crashing their lips together, first fast, then slow and gentle and loving. "Now," he said when they parted, "with your permission, I would like to do something filthy with my mouth." He grinned, and returned below, now lying on the grass between Fingon's legs and, removing his fingers, began laving at his lover's entrance.

“Ruuussss!” Fingon whined in pleasure, hips twitching. He pulled his legs up, planting his feet firmly on the ground and canting his hips up. “Ooooooh--Fuck Russ!” He twitched again. “Never filthy-- you could never be. Russ, you’re lovely, but oh! Don’t-- don’t think I can stay still. Please! Need you to help h-hold me.”

"I've got you, I've got you," Maedhros whispered, wrapping his arms around Fingon's legs and holding him, pulling him close, his tongue and mouth probing deeper, harder, licking up to take his sac fully in his mouth, groaning to stimulate him, and licking back down, loving watching Fingon come apart above him.

“A-aah. Russ, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” Fingon’s head fell back upon the grass turning right and left as his body shuddered around him. He didn’t want to finish, didn’t want Maedhros to pull him over that blissful edge. He wanted Maedhros to stay there, playing him like an instrument where he constantly changed the notes and the tempo of the music. And soon the words Fingon formed became variations of Maedhros’ name intermingled with soft pleas and moans. “Russandol. Maitimo. Melda. Arimeldanya. Beloved. Betrothed. Future husband. My soon husband. My light and my world. My Russ.”

And for a moment, for one fleeting moment, Maedhros _felt_ Fingon, really felt him, as if they were already bonded, and he, too, wanted this for forever, or at least to draw it out a bit longer. So he pulled back slightly, just enough to leave Fingon teetering on the edge, and after a moment's pause licked his way up the underside of Fingon's sex, along that vein there, and kissed his way up his chest to worry again at his throat, sliding their bodies together. "I hear you, Findekáno," he whispered: "I _hear_ you. Tell me when," and he was lost in smelling his hair and kissing his ears again.

“Y-you choose, beloved, or e-else-ohRuss- we shall stay here all day.” Fingon dragged one of his hands from the grass, tangling it in Maedhros’ hair. “I-I need-“ Fingon broke off and shook his head. “Someday, melda, when we’re alone and have no plans, I’ll let you keep me like this for hours. If, if you want.”

"You'll let me?" Maedhros breathed, hands and lips wandering lazily but purposefully over Fingon's body. "Findekáno, what do you think the revenge I was considering so long consisted of?" He laughed then, a huff of breath, and bit the tip of Fingon's nose before kissing his way down his body again.

Fingon’s nostrils flared. He pressed his lips together, but despite that a pleading sound escaped, bubbling up from him. He clenched the hand in Maedhros’ hair, not shifting him, just reminding his lover of its presence and that Maedhros was not in charge yet. “Th-thought this was your time to please me so well, on a day when you call me lord melindo. And when I obey your every whim, my prince, I thought we were to focus on you.” Fingon shifted, pressing up against Maedhros as his lover continued his downward path.

"Ah, forgive me, lord," Maedhros said, though his smile said he didn't mean it, not quite, and paused briefly as Fingon's hand tightened in his hair. "Will you permit me to make it up to you?" he asked, but did not wait for permission as he swallowed Fingon down, wetting his own fingers besides to press them into Fingon's tightness, this time crooking for that spot inside him.

Fingon thrust up and this time his body remained bowed off the ground, pressing into Maedhros and against him. He shuddered. “R-ruusss! Going- going to finish. Going to--” he was caught on the edge of completion, and looked down at his cousin, tangling both hands near his scalp and silently begging.

Holding Fingon, cradling him as he moved, Maedhros swallowed him down to the base, far enough that he could lick his balls, and he battered against Fingon's insides with his fingers, until Fingon was tumbling over the edge.

Fingon spent, and spent, and felt like he would never stop as Maedhros continued shifting the fingers within him. When he eventually fell back, he tugged Maedhros up by his hair. “Russandol,” he murmured adoringly, and caught his cousin’s mouth in a slow, grateful kiss.

"Fin, I haven't hardly swall--" Maedhros started before Fingon crashed their lips together, but this was better, this was far better, Fingon was delicious in every way. Maedhros spun his arms and legs around him and plastered their bodies together. "Love you," he said when they parted for air. "Love you, love this, love you." The sun was dappled over them, warm and perfect, and Maedhros just wanted to lay with him like this for days.

Nodding, Fingon helped to tangle their limbs together and yawned. “Thank you, arimeldanya. Thank you. Inyë tye-méla.” He exhaled softly, tucking himself against his cousin. “Are you enjoying yourself? Was the ride… to your liking?”

"Mm-hm," Maedhros agreed, his eyes sliding closed. "But this is better. Just--holding you." He kissed Fingon's brow and rolled them to one side, cradling his cousin in his arms. "Are _you_ pleased, my love? Melindo? My lord?"

“Pleased hardly begins to cover what I feel, my prince. I am… effervescent. Thrilled. Humbled. And so in love with thee.” Fingon slid a hand lower and then up, under Maedhros’ shirt, to settle against warm skin. “I love you, always.” He snuggled in Maedhros’ arms, content and sated.

"As I love thee," Maedhros murmured: "to ever be parted from you would be to be parted from life." So they lay together in the sun, half-naked, clothes and hair disheveled, until their horses at least began to grow impatient. He hastily tugged his trousers up and tied them one-handed. "Here, allow me to undo the damage I did," he joked, tilting Fingon onto his back and doing up his trousers and shirt.

“There’s no damage,” Fingon whispered. “I would never call what you do to me such.” He lay back and let his cousin dress him. When he was decent, he sat up touching Maedhros’ arm lightly. “Did you wish to work on my hair, or perhaps to walk along the shoreline?”

Maedhros hummed, sitting up on his knees and folding his hands in his lap like an excited child asked whether he wanted sweets or to stay up late with the adults. "Both?" he hazarded. Then he wrinkled his brow. "No, I would rather be alone with your hair," he decided. "We could walk." He looked up at Fingon: "But here, you're being rather magnanimous to a bet-loser," he grinned.

“Magnanimous? When you show such devotion and- ah- inspiration?” Fingon sat up as well and leaned in to kiss his lover. “Hair first,” he said with a smile. “And a walk after. As much as I’m enjoying the shade, let’s slip out into the light and enjoy it a little while.” He pressed their lips together again and pulled himself to his feet with a groan. “Russ,” he grumbled, legs wanting to buckle and set him right back on the ground, “do you even know what you do to me, melda?” He held out a hand to help Maedhros up, and when his lover was standing Fingon leaned heavily against him.

Maedhros stood and fell against Fingon, both holding each other upright. "Well do you know what your hair does to me, melda? I am beginning to rethink my assessment if your kindness: you want to see me desperate for you again so soon," he teased, and moved them into the light, where Fingon's hair shone, already seducing him. "Did you bring a hair brush?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if I should be jealous of my own hair," Fingon said, laughing. He called his horse over, removing the small pack it carried containing the food they had grabbed from the kitchen and a small brush from the room. "Thank you, greatly." He patted the horse and sent it off. "Hair, a walk, and snacks," he told his cousin, handing over the brush. "Well, perhaps some food now, also. Where do you want me?" Fingon grabbed an apple, polishing it on his shirt and biting into it while he waited for Maedhros' direction.

Maedhros pulled gently and sat down with Fingon in his lap, though he shifted and curled his legs around him, seating him on the grass so as to be at a level amenable to brushing out his hair from the tangles he'd not bothered with before and more recently made. "Ah, Finno," he said, "your hair is almost down to your waist." And it was shiny, a warm brown-black, and thick--therefore impossible for those untrained to deal with, but Maedhros had been working with Fingon's hair for the 49 years of the trees. "Here, I have a gift for you," Maedhros said, and pulled three long, thin golden wires out of his pocket: thin and flexible, but strong, an alloy of his own smelting. "Unwind those for me, will you? I want to put them in your hair."

"They're beautiful," Fingon whispered, holding the wires delicately. He carefully began to unwind them, marveling at how they sparkled in the bright light of the trees. "Thank you." He turned to Maedhros for a kiss before settling and allowing his lover to try to untangle his long, matted locks. After straightening the wires he held them up, watching light dance across them as he moved them and almost entranced by Maedhros' work. Again his betrothed had crafted something deceptively simple. These were threads designed to catch and release light, and as they moved no one would think to call them simple gold wires as they, curled up and retrieved from Maedhros' pocket, first appeared to be.

"Well, I like your hair bound in gold," Maedhros said simply, his words belying the many secret hours he spent in the crafting of these ornaments. "And you can hardly blame me for putting you in the colors of my father's house, jealous as I am," he grinned as he wove the wires in at the base of the top braids. "Though I would not have you cease the wearing of blue." He continued weaving the wires down six thin braids, and at the end he wrapped the wires around to hold the hair in place. Now to weave these in to the rest of his hair...

Fingon made a mental note to talk to his uncle about combining blue, red and gold elements without the result being too loud or gaudy. "I enjoy wearing your colors," Fingon admitted, and laughed. "I enjoy even more when we match-- or are coordinated, rather. Matching makes me think of when your mother kept putting the Ambarussa in identical outfits. They always managed to get them ridiculously dirty, but with the spots and stains in identical areas." He couldn't deny that the boys were extremely clever, even as young children. "You brothers are fascinating." He spoke with the tone a Noldor scientist might use to describe a chemical reaction or the behavior of some rarely seen creature currently under observation.

"That they are," Maedhros said wearily, but smiling.  "And while I do not think our mothers need any more encouragement to collaborate, we might hint at coordinating colors and matching sets. Any manner by which I am joined to you is a good one, and I automatically approve." Maedhros shifted up on his knees, locking Fingon's hips in place, and, "head down," he said as he wound the small braids together, pinning back more hair as he did so.

Fingon sighed and obediently ducked his head. "Hmm. You certainly have me well pinned arimelda. I can see all sorts of interesting places this can go, though my ideas don't have much to do with hair." He grinned as his lover tugged on his hair. "We could always have Turukáno relay the message to them," Fingon suggested idly, in response to Maedhros' earlier comment.

"Do not tempt me," Maedhros growled. "Or at least wait until I am finished here," he suggested as he wrapped the braids around loose hair, eventually pinning it all back before twisting the wires together to keep it in place. "There. I wouldn't--" he fixed a few places, "I would refrain from--vigorous activity," he said with a cheeky grin, "you know, horseback racing and similar. But, the gold might hold better than I hope." He shrugged and craned his neck around to kiss the corner of Fingon's mouth.

Fingon returned the kiss, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Thank you. And I hope it will last until we get back- I’m rather wishing I had brought a set of mirrors. And thank you for my gift- they’re very beautiful.” He reached up, hands delicately tracing the outline of his lover’s work. “Perhaps I can see a little of what you’ve done in the lake, but… it’s not the same.” Especially given the soft breeze that was rippling the surface of the lake. “Would you walk with me now, arimelda? I can carry the pack and we can stop to eat somewhere along the shore.” He rested his hands on Maedhros’ legs, squeezing gently and leaning back against him now that his cousin was finished.

"Correction," Maedhros said. "I will carry the bags." He stood and pulled Fingon to his feet. "But we will walk," he grinned, offering his arm.

“Very well. If you insist.” Fingon grinned and took his lover’s arm, leaning up for a kiss. “I love you. And thank you.” He arched his back and groaned in pleasure as it cracked, and then they moved to the shoreline to begin walking it.

Tossing the bag over his shoulder, Maedhros led them out of the clump of trees and into the sunlight by the lake. "You know I would say we should take a swim, but I don't want you to muss your hair, and we did just bathe. Perhaps we might wade up to our knees. But I am content to just walk for now." He squeezed Fingon's arm in his and leaned down to kiss him again.

“As am I. But later, perhaps… though I warn you I absolutely cannot resist you when you are wet and glistening, arimelda.” He leaned against Maedhros as he said it, and grinned as they passed a number of willows growing by the shore. They continued walking along another open stretch where a sea of grasses, waving in the breeze like rolling waves, stretched to the water’s edge, and Fingon grinned, squeezed Maedhros’ arm, and ran forward. “Would you catch me beloved?” he called back, turning and running backward, “or are you too weighted down with our afternoon provisions?”

"Of course," Maedhros said, setting the bag down and readying himself. "I will catch you." He backed up a few paces. "Ready."

Fingon laughed and ran forward with a wide smile. When he was a step away from Russ, he leapt up, landing in Maedhros’ arms with his arms wrapped around his lover’s waist ready to lean in and catch Maedhros’ lips with his own. And then pain. He gasped, choking on air and his hold on Maedhros’ waist started to slip. Eyes widening he stared at Maedhros for something, anything, for some cessation of the agony piercing through his shoulder and down his back and his arm. “Russ?” He whimpered the name, his grip on his lover failing.

"Fin?" Maedhros went from smiling to his heart falling to the pit of his stomach in a moment. His brow wrinkled as he held tighter to Fingon. "Findekáno, what--?" He rolled Fingon over in his arms, revealing a large, long hunting arrow sticking out of his back. "FINNO!" he cried, looking up, reversing their positions, in case any further missiles came from-- "The hunting party! Valar damn him, Turkafinwë, I am going to kill--" he growled, but stopped himself. "Finno, Findekáno, be still, I've got you," he said, turning Fingon onto his stomach to look at the wound.

“Hurts.” Fingon squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering. He tried to stay as still as possible, for each movement sent stabbing pain through him. He gritted his teeth as Maedhros prodded his back and steeled himself to speak, forcing out painful, halting sentences. “Russ. You have to move. If they keep shooting…”

"Okay, okay, hush, I've got you," Maedhros said, holding his cousin close to his chest. "Don't talk." He examined the wound, at first startled by its novelty. He had seen plenty of scraped knees and broken bones in his time, and he had seen arrows in the bodies of animals on hunts, but this--an arrow piercing Fingon--he was shaking with fear. There was blood, but not overmuch: still, he was afraid to draw the arrow out in case he made it worse. He had no way of telling if it pierced the lung, and choked on panic. "Findekáno, this may hurt," he said, and broke the arrow off a few inches from the wound.

Fingon let out a strangled scream followed by pained gasps. Despite the pain they caused, he could not entirely stop the small tremors that wracked him. “Hurts,” he mewled. “Russ. Russ, please! … Please.” He did not know what he was asking for, only that in pain he turned to Maedhros, for ever since he could remember Maedhros could make anything better-- from a scraped knee to being forced to stay on the ground after falling and cracking an arm. And that childish certainty that Maedhros could fix anything and make him well was the thought that came clearly through a haze of pain as the arrow in him shifted, tearing at his body.

It broke Maedhros' heart to have his love in such pain and able to do nothing about it. "Hush, hush, easy, Finno, I've got you, I've got you," he murmured, cradling Fingon in his arms, kissing the back of his neck. "I need you not to move," he said, reaching for the bag one-handed and pulling out a clean shirt that was stowed within and as gently as he could, packing it around the wound before tying it off with sleeves torn from his own tunic. "We'll get you to Estë, and you will be all right. Are you with me, Findekáno?" he pressed. "Tell me if you have any trouble breathing."

Fingon shook his head slightly. “Fine. Hurts.” He frowned as Maedhros tore his own shirt, thinking it was a shame Maedhros was so casually destroying it. Then he was on a horse, Maedhros carefully guiding them, and suddenly the lake was out of sight and they were heading… where were they heading? He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and tried to ignore the throbbing in his shoulder.

Maedhros and Fingon sat facing each other on the back of Maedhros' mare--with a whisper he sent Fingon's horse charging ahead to warn the house--and Maedhros cradled Fingon tightly to his chest, kissing and reassuring him, and urging his horse on as fast as she would go while still moving steadily and evenly to as not to jostle his lover. Fingon was looking pale, and he wasn't moving or speaking much, so Maedhros only pressed him to him as they made their way back to Finwë's home.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Maedhros and Fingon sat facing each other on the back of Maedhros' mare--with a whisper he sent Fingon's horse charging ahead to warn the house--and Maedhros cradled Fingon tightly to his chest, kissing and reassuring him, and urging his horse on as fast as she would go while still moving steadily and evenly to as not to jostle his lover. Fingon was looking pale, and he wasn't moving or speaking much, so Maedhros only pressed him to him as they made their way back to Finwë's home._

 

 "I will look after you, Findekáno. I need you to be still and be brave. Can you do that for me, melda?" he asked, pressing a kiss to Fingon's clammy temple before projecting his voice into the courtyard: "FINWË! ATAR! FËANÁRO! NOLOFINWË! HELP, THERE'S BEEN AN ACCIDENT! HELP!"

Fingon flinched lightly, curling tighter to Maedhros as he heard yelling. There were other loud voices and hands trying to pull him away. Everything was bright and loud and painful and the world was spinning under him. He clung to Maedhros’ tunic as tightly as he could and pressed against him though he cried at the pain the action caused. 

"I need grandfather! Has anyone seen grandfather?" Maedhros demanded, as his father and his uncle ran out to meet him. "Findekáno has been shot--a stray arrow--where is Finwë?" His voice grew shrill, and, as if things could get no worse, as Fingolfin and Fëanor pulled Fingon gently from the back of the horse--

“Don’t let him take me away!” Fingon tried to shake the hand off his wrist, trembling and burying his face in Maedhros’ chest. “Russ, you can’t go. Don’t let him make me leave. Please--I love you!”

"Finno!" he said, focusing suddenly, falling off the horse and going to his side. "Findekáno, I am here. No one is taking you away, and I am not going anywhere." He cradled his cousin carefully, and kissed his cheek. "Now you said you would be still for me, love. I've got you," he assured him, just as his grandfather ran up (he couldn't look Fingolfin in the eye, not now, not after the way Fingon had reacted to his own father's touch). "Grandfather!" he cried, relieved--Finwe knew the times before Valinor, surely he would know what to do here. "Findekáno's been shot. Please, grandfather, you have to help him!"

“Hush. It would take more than a stray arrow to truly damage my grandson. How long ago, where, and how much has he been moving since then?” Finwë began unpacking the makeshift dressing, complimenting Maedhros on his work. Fëanor was paying close attention, hardly bothered by the blood or the angry color of the wound. He was familiar enough with wounds from his work and from the larger forges where apprentices were (in his mind) constantly doing things they ought not to do and getting injured as a result.

“Findekáno,” Fëanor intoned, taking his nephew’s free hand.

“Uncle?” Fingon looked up, dazed. The tone was one he had heard countless times working with his uncle for the past few months, and it cut through his painful haze as much as Maedhros’ voice did.

“You’ll be fine; you’re too clever to get hit somewhere delicate. But next time please don’t volunteer as a target--I’m sure a wood panel or a tree would work just as well.” Fingon let out a small huff of air that passed for a laugh and leaned against Maedhros, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to stop his tears.

Finwë gave Maedhros a stern look and cupped his chin (turned as he was, Fingon couldn't see) and Maedhros nodded solemnly. He had to be stronger, he couldn't let on to Fingon that he was worried.

"He--half an hour ago. I've tried not to move him too much. And I know Tyelko only uses bodkin-heads. I--I didn't know what was best, so I left the arrow in there..."

Finwë nodded, palpating the area, nodded solemnly. "Now, Findekáno," he said loudly as he prepared to tug the arrowhead free, and Maedhros' arms tightened around Fingon, "tell me exactly what mischief you and your betrothed were getting up to that put you in the path of an arrow like this."

“Grandfather!” Fingon sputtered. “We were walking! We were by the lake. And I--I was joking around and took a running leap into Russan-ah!-dol’s arms. We weren’t doing anything wr-AH!” He gave up on speech as Finwë began to remove the arrowhead. “Russ!” Fingon buried his face in Maedhros’ tunic, squeezing his cousin and biting the fabric to try to muffle his cries.

"Shh, shh, I've got you, Finno, hush," Maedhros said, crashing Fingon's head into his neck, as if there he could protect him, and, as Finwë slid the arrow free and placed a cloth over it to stop the bleeding, Maedhros laid his hand over the top of it in spite of Fingon's cries. "You're all right, you're going to be all right," he murmured.

"All right," Finwë said after a grim moment. "It didn't graze or pierce the lung. Let's get him inside. Do you have him, Nelyo?"

"Yes," Maedhros said immediately, but he allowed someone (his father? his uncle? a servant whose name he didn't remember?) to help with his legs so he didn't have to shift Fingon at all. "There, see? I've got you," he whispered, as together they brought him inside and laid him out on a couch.

"Now hold that cloth there, Nelyo," Finwë ordered, and turned to bark orders to passersby.

Maedhros leaned down and pressed a kiss to Fingon's temple, and slotted their bodies together. "I'm here, Finno," he whispered, "tenn' ambar-metta."

“Inyë tye-méla, arimeldanya. Tenn’ ambar-metta, tye-melin.” Fingon shivered against his cousin, trying to ignore everything going on around them. He cracked an eye open to watch Maedhros and softly, for his lover’s ear only, added, “Thank you for saving me, my prince.”

Maedhros kept a firm pressure on the wound, brushing Fingon's hair back tenderly and allowing no one else near him, forgetting that there were others there. He snorted at Fingon's reply, and whispered back in his ear, " _You_ were the one who protected me from the arrow," and kissing him again. "Inyë tye-méla." He cupped Fingon's cheek in his palm and turned him away as Finwë returned with bandages and hot water and some sort of medicine.

"This will hurt, Finno," he whispered, and held a cloth soaked in scalding hot water against the wound, which had Fingon crying out and bucking in Maedhros' arms, but he held his cousin fast. After cleaning the wound, Finwë packed it with bandages and wrapped them around his chest in order to hold them in place. Maedhros helped by moving Fingon as needed.

“It was unintentional, though, or I’d have had the sense to yell at you to drop or pull you out of the way instead of throwing myself into it.” He glanced at Maedhros with a slightly lopsided smile. “But to protect you I would willingly place myself in front of a hundred such.” He winced. “Just one hurts terribly, though, so try to avoid letting anyone us you for target practice.” He sighed and leaned against his cousin heavily. “Thank you for helping me,” he whispered. “This really doesn’t feel good.”

"I bet," Maedhros said, holding him close and shushing him. "I am sorry, melda, so sorry. You shouldn't say such things. You know I would rather have protected you."

"Here," Finwë said, handing Maedhros a small cup of warm liquid. "This will help alleviate the pain. It may also make him drowsy."

"Here, Finno, you hear that? This'll make you feel better, can you drink this for me?" He carefully tilted Fingon's head back and trickled the liquid into his mouth.

Fingon drank it willingly, almost falling asleep where he sat as the pain ceased. “Well.” He glanced up at Maedhros. “So much for my plans for the rest of the day.” He sighed and clutched Maedhros’ hand in his. “Russ? I think I’m ‘bout to sleep. Promise you’ll talk to Ingoldo and--ah--if you will, spend some time with everyone. And remember to tell our mothers Turu volunteered.” His eyes drifted closed before blink open as he turned to look directly at Maedhros. “Tye-melin, Russandol.” With that settled he shut his eyes and, after a deep yawn, let his mind drift.

"I remain yours to command," Maedhros whispered into Fingon's ear, laughing lightly at the suddenly drowsy bundle in his arms, and, for the first time, looked around. The entire family, it seemed, was gathered watching with grave faces, as if to say this sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen in Aman. And it wasn't. Maedhros was going to _kill_ Celegorm, and possibly Aredhel, because she probably put him up to it. 

Fingolfin looked somewhat embarrassed, and lingered nearby but not as close as he clearly wanted to be, so Maedhros made an effort to reach out: "Uncle," he said, "would you help me carry him to the sitting room? I think he would be more comfortable there." Also, they still needed to talk--about a few things, apparently.

“Of course, Nelyo,” Fingolfin murmured, stepping forward quickly to assist in moving his son. He looked at Maedhros and mouthed a silent 'thank you' to his nephew. “Here--you have the rest of him?” Carefully they maneuvered Fingon, who was half unconscious, towards the main sitting room. The rest of the family cleared a path as they went by.

“Ruuusssss?” Fingon turned his head to look at his betrothed, demanding reassurance. “Don’ leave me, mmkay?”

"Of course not, darling," Maedhros said, ignoring that Fingon had also told him to go talk to Finrod and others, but he only chuckled and kissed his cousin's hair, looking sheepishly up at his uncle as an afterthought.

"All right, let's put him down," Fingolfin said, and Maedhros obliged, propping him up with pillows while Fingolfin covered him with a blanket.

"There, how's that, Finno?" Maedhros checked and-- "Hey, look, your hair stayed." He grinned. "Let me know if it's uncomfortable."

Fingon pouted slightly. “I still haven’t seen it. The gold is working as you intended?” Fingon gratefully wrapped the blanket around himself. “It’s alright. Not as warm as you though.” Fingon wasn’t looking at either of the others, and his eyes had a slightly glazed appearance as he shifted and settled. “I’d rather have you on me. Or around me….” And, almost breathed as an afterthought and with a slightly questioning note, “in me?” Fingolfin coughed and avoided looking at either of them, though his hands tightened on the blanket as he adjusted it. Fingon came back to himself at the sound. “Huh? Um… ‘m comfortable. But it’d be better if you sat with me, Russandol.”

"You're asking for what I cannot give you, Findekáno. Anyway, I don't think it would serve to warm you much," he pointed out, teasing lightly. He settled down on the floor, wrapping his arms around Fingon. "How's this, instead?" he asked, and smiled up at Fingolfin. "Did we ever show you our rings, uncle?"

“I’ve seen them in passing, but not the particulars. May I?” Fingolfin leaned in, taking Fingon’s hand first cradling it as though it were some delicate and precious thing that might crack or crush at a hint of a rough touch. His fingers brushed over the ring carefully. “It is beautiful, Nelyo. I see your father’s skill runs true in your veins. The craftsmanship is very elegant.” He smiled lightly, and when Fingon smiled in return and did not flinch or seek to remove his hand, Fingolfin leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his brow. “Congratulations, truly,” he whispered before pulling back. He turned to Maedhros. “And yours?”

Maedhros held out his hand to show his uncle the ring Fingon had made him. "The marvel is when it's off my finger," he said, slipping it off the digit and handing it to his uncle.

"A puzzle ring!" Fingolfin realized after a moment. 

"It was with this piece that Fingon earned my father's approval, " Maedhros said, sliding the ring together and then back on his finger. He said it lightly, but the unsaid 'How might I win yours?' hung in the air. Maedhros bit his lip.

Fingolfin gave him a long, searching look. “Take care of my son.” And that ended the conversation as far as he was concerned.

“I never realized the ceiling was so shiny.” Both turned to look at Fingon, who was staring up, head slowly bobbing back and forth as his eyes tracked across the top of the room.

Maedhros burst out laughing, brushing his fingers through Fingon's hair. "It is marvelous," he agreed, though, to him, the ceiling was as matte as the rest of the walls. He fixed his uncle with a solemn look and nodded gratefully.

"I--I'm sorry I--yesterday--" Fingolfin said, but Maedhros shook his head shortly.

"You were only doing what I would have done to protect him," he whispered, shrugged. "I love him."

“Love you too, Russ,” Fingon mumbled and grabbed for Maedhros’ hand. “I feel strange.”

There was a timid knock on the back door to the room before it pushed open a few inches, admitting Finrod and Galadriel. “Is Findekáno going to be alright?” Galadriel whispered as they walked up to the couch. Fingon looked over and smiled.

“Russ!” He tugged on his lover’s hand. “I told you, we--you need to talk to… um… them.” He gestured vaguely at their cousins.

"Yes, I know, Finno," Maedhros said, and beamed at his cousins. "Yes, he's going to be all right. He would feel a lot better if you gave him a kiss, though, Artanis."

Smiling softly, Fingolfin excused himself as Finrod came in, carrying his little sister. Galadriel wriggled down from her brother's arms and rushed to plant a kiss on Fingon's cheek.

"Sorry we didn't tell you, Goldo," Maedhros said, turning to Finrod. "It was--a delicate situation--"

Finrod held up a hand, grinning. "It's all right. I really--I should have known--come to think of it, a lot makes more sense now."

Maedhros snorted. "Ah, I wouldn't think about it too much," he said, his arm on Galadriel's back, holding her up as she continued kissing Fingon's cheek. "Artanis, Finno is to be _my_ husband, I'll thank you not to kiss him quite so much!" he laughed, pulling her back and tickling her.

Smiling, Finrod watched the two of them. Eventually, he thought of something and his jaw dropped open. “Wait a minute… when I was younger I heard--oh, Valar no! Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that. It’s like imaging my parents having sex.” He shuddered.

“Nope!” Fingon turned dazed eyes on his younger cousin while Maedhros shot him a worried look. “Not really. I’m sure we’re _much_ more adventurous than--“

Maedhros covered Fingon's mouth with his hand and Galadriel's ears with his other. "All _right_ , that's enough. Goldo, I told you not to think about it. Finno, darling, I need you to shush." He grinned sheepishly at Finrod and shrugged.

“I wasn’t talking?” Fingon looked around, blinking. “Oh! Goldo! We said this morning we were going to talk to you. Hi, Nerwen! You look taller every time I see you!” He glanced at Maedhros. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Galadriel giggled, and Maedhros shook his head. "Because I have an idiot for a betrothed," he teased.

Finrod gathered his sister up. "Well, we'll leave you to that, then. Do you need anything?"

"Some water, perhaps--thanks," Maedhros said.

Fingon waited until they had left before yanking on Maedhros’ shirt. “’twasn’t nice. And you’re supposed to be obeying me today, beloved. I thought to possibly even take you up on that offer of your hand.” He ran his fingers appraisingly over the appendage before dropping it and glaring at Maedhros. “You lied to my father! Ah, to me in front of my father! You lied!” He poked Maedhros in the chest.

"Finno, stop moving so much," Maedhros said, pinning Fingon down and settled closer over him. "How did I lie to your father?" he asked. "And yes, you rule me, but only when you're of sound mine. You'll still get your winnings." He kissed Fingon's cheek.

“Well… you lied to _me_. You said you wouldn’t serve to warm me much. Love, how warm you are. Waking up with you on top of me instead of a blanket is like… like waking up with you on top of me instead of a blanket.” He shook his head. “Perfect. Warm. Comfy. ‘m not cold with you. Even before we took a bath earlier I was feeling much better. And when we’re _together_ …” He looked at Maedhros sadly. “I’m sorry your day has fallen apart. You’re the one who wanted to do this in the first place and look what’s happened--I walked away from you and argued with you and when we decided to do something safe and pleasant arrows come flying out of the clear sky. And I’m not sure I’m entirely in my right mind right now.” He said the last part slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

Maedhros laughed, and pressed their brows together. "Oh, Finno," he cooed, "My darling. You are the one injured. _My_ day is perfect but for that." He captured Fingon's lips in his, and slid up onto the couch, gently cradling him. "You cannot be concerned about me. I will be well when you are well. And no, you are not in your right mind. But I love you, anyway."

Fingon moaned into the kiss and smile at his cousin. “And I love you always.” He glanced at the door. “Unless my sense of time is off we still have a minute before our cousins get back from the kitchen. Would you kiss me again, arimeldanya? I think your lips have some special potency that removes pain as though it never was, for when they touch mine I can think of nothing but you, and all thought of my back leaves me.”

"If I never needed to eat or breathe, I would give up speech in order to kiss you always," Maedhros said, sliding their lips gently, lazily together. "I love you," he whispered into his mouth, and licked Fingon's lips. "Inyë tye-méla. Don't move, I've got you," he reminded him.

They remained pressed together until a soft knock came on the door and Maedhros reluctantly pulled back. Fingon groaned at the loss. Finrod and Galadriel returned, each carrying a glass of water. “Here! We want to go--we heard a trumpet and it sounds like the hunt is either passing or returning. The best views are from upstairs. Love you Nelyo, Findekáno!” Finrod took his sister’s hand and began pulling her toward the door.

Fingon squeezed his lover’s hand. “So, how much do you think I can get out of Turko and Irissë as part of their apology? A new bow, perhaps, but I bet they’ll agree to more. Thoughts?”

"They'll be lucky to get out of it with their lives," Maedhros growled, though his mood had softened somewhat from before. "You may be as kind or as cruel to them as you want." He ground his teeth at the sound of the trumpets. "Here, you should drink more water," he pressed.

Protesting that he was fine, Fingon still finished the glass of water. Listening carefully he could hear people moving around in the rest of the house and wished he could be there when the hunting party rode into the frenzy. “I don’t want to cruel. We like them, remember? I just want… ah… I don’t know what I want.” He shrugged a shoulder, wincing at the movement, and carefully stilled himself.

"Don't _move_ , Findekáno," Maedhros said sternly, extricating himself from his cousin and making certain that Fingon was comfortable before standing and turning at a knock on the door.

Of course without waiting, Celegorm and Aredhel, with Angrod and Aegnor in tow, pushed through. "Maitimo, we just heard. Finno--is Finno all right?"

Celegorm even seemed repentant, but Maedhros stalked to the door and shoved the arrow in his face. " _This_ ," he snarled, "was in Fingon's shoulder."

Celegorm flinched back, alternating looking in fear from him to worriedly at Fingon. "I--I didn't--we were just playing--I didn't think that--"

"Finno!" Aredhel cried, but Maedhros grabbed her arm before she could run past.

"I'm not finished with either of you."

Fingon’s eyes wavered back and forth between everyone who had entered the room with a glazed look that worried Aredhel more than anger or even disappointment would have. “Maitimo, what’s _wrong_ with him? My brother looks…” she shook her head.

“Russandol, we didn’t think--I didn’t mean… please just let us apologize to Findekáno. Please let us see that he’s alright.” Celegorm’s eyes also studied Fingon with worry, particularly as he now appeared to be intensely studying a blank spot on the wall opposite him.

Maedhros growled. "You'll apologize to _me_ for now. He's drugged, because he was in a lot of _pain_."

Celegorm and Aredhel and the children now focused on him, fearful and saddened.

"Maitimo--Nelyo, I'm _sorry_ ," Celegorm said. "It was an accident. We didn't know you were even out yet. We thought we were the only ones. And I was aiming for the lake, just in case."

"I put him up to it, Nelyo, I'm sorry," Aredhel said, her eyes brimming with tears.

Maedhros took a breath, and softened. "All right. It's all right. Go talk to him. Be gentle." He released them, letting them walk past and kneel beside Fingon. Aredhel was crying.

“’Rissë?” Fingon pushed himself up with a wince, wrapping an arm around her. “Shh. ‘s fine. I’m fine. Russ is taking very good care of me.”

"Finno, hold still," Maedhros reminded him.

"Findekáno, I'm so sorry," Celegorm blurted out. "I didn't know you were there, I swear, it was an accident! What--can I make it up to you?"

Fingon tried to laugh though it came out as a slightly pained cough. "Tha's the question isn't it? Ah... A new bow and an I Owe You to be claimed later, I guess?" He smiled and reached out to pat Celegorm's shoulder. "Seriously, 's fine. Just please be more careful in the future, and don't shoot where you can't see. Agreed?" He pulled Celegorm into a hug, wincing as he shifted again. "Ow. Sorry, Russ."

"Finn," Maedhros ground out.

"Sure, two new bows, from each of us," Celegorm agreed quickly. "Wedding presents."

"All right, all right you two. Out," Maedhros said, and smiled, and shooed the younger ones out. "Finno needs to rest."

Fingon closed his eyes gratefully, sinking back down as the door closed behind them. “Thank you, arimelda. I’m a little… tired? But I don’t really want to sleep. Join me?”

Maedhros smiled softly, brushing Fingon's hair from his face with a gentgle touch. The couch was just big enough, but "This would be easier in our own bed," he said as he lay down along the edge of the couch beside Fingon. He draped Fingon's arm over his chest and rested his arm on his lover's waist. "I remain yours to command--not just today, as part of a game, but always." He kissed Fingon's brow.

"And I have _always_ been yours. Tye-melin." Fingon touched Maedhros' hand on him. "Thank you. You always know how to warm my fëa and you brighten the world for me." Fingon smiled wryly. "I'm glad you weren't hurt, Russandol. I'm not sure it ever really occurred to me that you could be. And while I may have been hurt a little... even now I feel I will always be safe while you are with me."

"And so you always shall be, I promise," Maedhros said, pressing their bodies flush together. "Tell me when you are hungry, and I will fetch us something, or send for something. And when you wish to move to our room." Maedhros pressed more tender kisses across Fingon's face. "Let me just hold you and love you, and tell me your smallest desire."

"You spoil me melda. And as for my desires, I have your love, your warmth, your trust... what more could I want in this moment?" He brushed a hand across Maedhros' face and leaned his head forward, covering his lover's face with kisses in return. "Thank you for taking such perfect care of me. Though I don't want to make you stay here all afternoon... Just let me know if you need a--ah--break. I won't be offended. And I'll probably just end up staring at the wall again or something." He shrugged with one shoulder, biting his lip.

Maedhros huffed. "Me? Need a break? From you?" he repeated. "You will have to drive me from your side, as I have told you." He grinned. "You could stare at me instead of a wall."

"You're much shinier," Fingon admitted with a grin. He shifted minimally. "I hate not being able to move," he muttered. "I want you on top of me and in my arms. I want to be able to lie on my back and walk and run and dance. And I want to be able to give you pleasure."

"You _do_ , you give me pleasure just being here, being all right, being mine," Maedhros said, rubbing his hand up and down Fingon's back, careful of his injury. "Shall we just rest? Would you like me to sing to you? Or tell you a story? I fear to do anything more strenuous."

"Ah.... Would you sing to me, arimeldanya? I dearly love your singing. And kiss me again, perhaps. I would have your lips on mine." Fingon touched Maedhros gently. "Thank you, that feels... wonderful--your hand on my back. I could swear your touch heals."

"I wish desperately it were true," Maedhros said, kissing Fingon on the lips gently, but with passion, taking his time but showing all his love. He settled in closer to Fingon, sliding his arm beneath his cousin's neck so that his head was pillowed on his shoulder, and he hooked one leg around the back of Fingon's, and pressed their chests flush together. "Sleep if you want," he said, humming experimentally to find a key before settling on a tune. He sang quietly, for Fingon's ears only.

Fingon watched Maedhros for a time, but eventually lulled by his lover and the sing and sank into slumber.

Maedhros dozed for some hours as Fingon rested like a babe in his arms, and they were left mostly undisturbed. As evening drew on, someone pushed the door softly open. Maedhros could not turn entirely around to the door, but as the figure approached he realized it was Fingolfin. "I came to check on you two. Dinner is in half an hour, but I can have something brought up?" he asked softly. "Atar sent me with more of the draught, as well, if he is in need of it."

"Melda?" Fingon started to move and let out a soft, pained noise before quickly stilling. "Ah… 'm 'wake now. Food is good. Oh no! We were going to picnic. I'm sorry. And you must be hungry. Are we.. um…" Fingon blushed and pressed his face into Maedhros' skin. "I think I'll need a hand getting to the dining room. Help me?"

"Hush, melda, don't _move_ ," Maedhros chuckled, turning back to his uncle. "I think we will be coming to dinner, thank you. I'll help him get ready."

Fingolfin nodded. "How's the pain level, son?" he asked. "If you promise to behave I'll give you more of this happy juice from grandfather."

"What, you can get him to behave?" Maedhros teased as he slid off the couch to his knees beside Fingon. "Uncle, what's your secret?"

“Oh, be quiet. Do I ever gang up with uncle against you, Russandol? And you’re supposed to be nice today.” He brought a hand to his side, breathing deeply. “I think I can stand, perhaps? At least sit up for a minute. Will you help me?”

"Yes, but not yet. Let's get you sitting," Maedhros said, his tone bossy, and he lifted Fingon to a sitting position. "How's the shoulder?" he checked, seeing his cousin wince. He cast about for the loose bandages that lay around.

“I’m feeling it a little more. But I’ll live.” He gave Maedhros a look. “I think I’d rather wait on it and be a bit more coherent for dinner with the family… I can’t recall exactly what happened this afternoon, but I think I may have said some things I shouldn’t have.”

Maedhros snorted, and Fingolfin laughed out loud as he vacated the room, leaving the draught on the table. "There were one or two things, yes," he grinned, and began binding Fingon's arm into a sling, which too pressure off his shoulder and also pinned his arm to his chest: "This is so I don't have to continually reprimand you in front of everyone for trying to move your arm when you know better."

“You’re certainly _not_ going to reprimand me in front of everyone at dinner,” Fingon groused. “And need I remind you of the times you had education-related crafting injuries? Did you ever do as you were meant to, or did you just run around chasing your siblings and cousins?” He cuffed Maedhros gently across the back of the head. “So you hardly have room to talk. And I’m not taking anything for the pain, so I promise I won’t be intentionally causing myself pain. I—ah—do I even want to know what I said? No, on second thought, not right before we go see everyone. And I’m sure dinner will be fine. Just… I may have to retire early. If so, I apologize.” He shifted. “Would you help me stand?”

"Yes, just hold--still--there--" Maedhros said, ignoring Fingon's comments as he tied off the sling. He never had the time or the luxury to be ill or injured. His brothers would kill themeselves or each other if he took a day off. "All right, let's try standing," he said, pulling Fingon to his feet. "There, all right?" he checked, helping him slip a clean shirt over his head and making certain he made a respectable appearance.

“I’ll have to be. I’m a bit gross. After dinner perhaps I can convince you to help me take care of that. Ready?” He gripped Maedhros’ arm tightly at first, trying to master walking with minimal movement in his back. “This is… I feel so awkward and ungainly.” He gave Maedhros a small grin. “Ah, well. I have the most handsome Elda in the room on my arm. Or I’m on his. So I suppose that negate the unattractive way I’m moving right now, Ready to face the family? Everything’s had time to… settle… a little. And the baby! I hope news of the new baby will help to occupy everyone.” He winced as he took a bad step. “Ow. Is it just me, or did my father seem nicer than he’s been? Not that I like the two of you joining forces against me.”

Maedhros chuckled, taking half-steps to accommodate Fingon's speed. "He did. And yes, it's very exciting. The baby, the betrothal, the freak accident." As they made their way into the dining hall, raucous cheering greeted them, which startled them. They seemed to be mainly pleased that Fingon was up and about. Maedhros pulled back his own usual seat for Fingon. "I will sit at your right, and help you," he whispered as he slid Fingon's chair in.

“As you will, my prince,” Fingon murmured. “Thank you.” He raised his water class in a silent salute to everyone after Maedhros was seated, and enjoyed the cool liquid on his tongue. “Hey, Rissë. Are you doing alright? And Turko?” He was feeling a little more like himself, and so long as he had Maedhros beside him he as more than willing to be forgiving toward his sister and cousin.

“Better, seeing you here,” Aredhel said with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“I could be worse,” Fingon replied, settling on the truth. “Definitely better than earlier. So how _was_ the rest of your hunting trip? Or were you just firing arrows at the lake and calling that hunting?”

"It was wonderful--we got that hart I have been after since last time we visited," Celegorm gestured to the table, where the venison rested "it was only when we returned that the afternoon was spoiled, finding out, to our horror, that my victory arrow into the lake wounded my seventh brother!" Those seated around them chuckled.

"Horror doesn't begin to cover what I'm going to make your life until Findekáno is well," Maedhros said--and that earned more laughter from the assembly--as he served Fingon and cutting his meat for him. He also nudged the glass to the left side of his plate to facilitate drinking.

“Oh, don’t worry too much, Turko,” Fingon added. “I’m certain my betrothed won’t be abandoning me in order to terrorize you.” Fingon gave Maedhros a look, then turned back to Celegorm. “…. Not too often, at any rate.” The change in Celegorm’s expression over the course of that statement was highly entertaining for the rest of the table. That Celegorm turned to Aredhel and mouthed ‘save me!’ only added to the moment.

Even Maedhros smiled at that, for Fingon was perfectly correct. "You know what that means--" he said, and reached suddenly under his chair, from where he hauled up a copper-headed elfling by his leg: it was, upon further inspection (and by the sound of his shrill cry), discovered to be Amrod. "You're on Ambarussa duty until further notice. Hush, Pityo," he said, sticking a piece of bread in his chubby fist and scooping more vegetables onto Fingon's plate.

Celegorm's face fell. "Nelyo, it was an _accident_!"

"Rissë will be helping."

"What? Why me?"

"Ah, good, I can have you two put Artanis to bed, then?" Finarfin teased from further up the table.

“How is it fair that I don’t get to benefit from this?” Fingolfin questioned. “Hmm, I suppose if you’re accepting extra duties you can help Turukáno with his archery skills and sparring. Perhaps an hour or two of lessons every other day?” Celegorm sank down in his chair, ready to slip off it and sink under the table entirely before anyone could add to his new duties.

Fingon shook his head in amusement as he watched the byplay. “Should I be worried, Russandol? I think you may have started something.”

Maedhros shook his head, using the commotion and laughter to steal a kiss as he buttered Fingon's bread. "Everything to your liking, my love? Would you like anything else? I'm going to have to forbid you wine tonight, in case you need some more pain relievers later."

“I wasn’t planning to have any--I’m certain I’ll need something for the pain in order to sleep.” Fingon paused, suddenly wondering how they would sleep, and if Maedhros would want to deal with his injuries all through the night. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind to be discussed later. “Everything is very good, thank you. You anticipate my needs before I ever need ask. And dinner is wonderful, as usual. What about you, betrothed? Is the meal to your liking? I should hope so, since you’ve already managed to hand over Ambarussa duties--you couldn’t have picked a more taxing punishment for poor Turko and Rissë.”

"Ah, they're just hyperactive, not truly wicked," Maedhros said, and Amrod had even gone still, held in his arm, content to mouth on the bread he had been given. "You know, I haven't actually taken a bite yet," he laughed, scooping some potatoes indelicately onto his fork since he, too, was destined to eat left-handed tonight, apparently. "Tyelko and Rissë can take over right after dinner."

"Thank the Valar," Aredhel squeaked. "We still have time to flee!"

“Not really,” Fingon commented after swallowing a forkful of food. “Everyone in the family just heard you’re on child care duty. If you flee, they’ll come find you and drop off your charges. I don’t see you getting out of this.” He sent down his fork and reached for his class with a small wince. “Well, grandfather,” he called to the head of the table. “Never let it be said that your parties aren’t the most eventful in all of Aman. I only hope we haven’t all overshadowed your begetting day which is, of course, the reason all of us are here.”

Finwë waved his hand around the table. “You all keep life interesting. And you certainly seem to give me memorable celebrations. You are all invited to stay around, but please--I would prefer any other excitement to be more along the lines of betrothals and pregnancies and successful hunts. No further injuries allowed, clear?”

"Or no more excitement," Maedhros offered, as the Ambarussa on his knee rolled over on his lap to share his bread with his twin who now sat on Maedhros' foot, which freed up his hands. At a tug on his trousers, Maedhros cut a piece of meet and dropped it between his legs into Amras' mouth, and did the same for Amrod.

"See they behave for you," Celegorm protested, watching this play out.

Maedhros merely shrugged, taking a bite of the meat for the first time. "Oh, this _is_ good," he said, nodding at the hunters. "My thanks." And since he was apparently eating for three, he served himself another cut, and passed a bunch of grapes to his brothers to keep them occupied.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be doing that at the table, Nelyo,” Anairë called, pressing a hand to her stomach softly. “You’re giving me ideas and you may have just gotten yourself roped into future babysitting.” Fingon grinned widely at her comment. He _li_ _ked_ watching his betrothed with children. And something deep in him twisted again at the thought that they would never have their own. He shook off the thought and speared another piece of venison, waving the fork in front of Amrod until he took the offered bite with a smile.

"He or she will be my little brother or sister, too," Maedhros reminded the table, smiling sidelong at Fingon.

Anairë laughed. "No, I suppose I never had to 'rope you' into babysitting."

"Better than cleaning, or other chores," Maedhros offered with a sheepish smile.

"That explains the state of your room," Nerdanel murmured, bouncing a squirming Curufin on her own lap.

“My firstborn’s room is in a state of organized chaos, my dear. That is hardly a bad thing--it keeps things hidden from anyone sneaking into the room and may be considered a sign of him being hardworking and involved in any number of projects that need to be kept separate.”

Fingon choked at Nerdanel’s comment but more so as her husband responded. He turned to Maedhros, nudging his leg. “I like this,” he said softly. “This is what our family should be like. I would have this always, with you.”

"What, the organized chaos?" Maedhros laughed, heaping more food on Findekáno's plate and his own.

“No.” Fingon set down his fork and reached his hand across him, taking Maedhros’ in a gentle grip. “The joking. My mother wanting you to look after her next child. Our uncles and fathers all messing with Turko and Irissë. Finwë making light of everything and reminding us of the good things this weekend. You with children clinging to you.” He laughed. “But I do like your room and certainly won’t be complaining about it.”

Maedhros pushed Fingon's hand closer to his body so as not to strain him, but held it tight. "Me, too," he agreed, blushing slightly. "I am very happy right now, meldanya. Are you? Aside from your shoulder, I suppose." He kissed Fingon's cheek shyly. But before Fingon could answer:

"Less kissy! More food!" came a demand from below, and, "No, not that. Potato yummy."

"Oh, that's nice, yes," Maedhros shouted down at his lap. "Potatoes are yummy and I think I'll eat them all--"

"PLEASE!" the Ambarussa added quickly. "Please may we have some?" Maedhros dropped potato into their mouths like they were hungry birds. Amras had now joined his brother on Maitimo's lap.

Those seated by Maedhros laughed at their antics, and Fingon helped to provide several forkfuls of food. Eventually desert was brought out, and the children’s activity for the day became clear--they had gone on a berry finding mission through Finwë’s gardens, and had provided baskets of contributions to dessert. Though by the looks on their faces they had eaten more than a few, and probably too many, while they were working.

About halfway through dessert, Maedhros noticed that Fingon was fidgeting more and more, his voice grew strained and his pie left unfinished. "All right, Ambarussa," he said. "Tyelko and Irissë told me they wanted to play with you until bedtime, so why don't you go--?"

"Eeeeee!" They squealed, crawling under the table to their new babysitters. Celegorm shot him a dark look, but Maedhros shrugged. "I'm going to take Finno to bed," he announced. "Say good night, Fin." He pulled Fingon's chair out, bowing to their host, and helped Fingon to stand.

“I’m sorry for leaving so soon.” Fingon wobbled as he stood, but with an arm on the back of his chair managed to steady himself. If Maedhros was going to do his best to embarrass him and act like he was one of the children, Fingon would not hesitate to tease back. He turned to address the table. “My apologies, grandfather, everyone. I had hoped to have a chance to talk to you all a little more, but apparently my betrothed can’t wait to get me into bed.” He shrugged a little, helplessly, and then gazed up at Maedhros with a ridiculous, saccharine expression. “If you’re ready, arimelda?”

"Aaaaand now we're leaving," Maedhros said, flushing bright red and dragging Fingon out of the room. "You're going to give everyone the wrong idea," he hissed once they were outside. "And if you keep misbehaving," he growled, and scooped Fingon lightly into his arms.

Fingon gave him a sweet smile. “Don’t treat me like a toddler, and I won’t feel the need to give everyone what would be, in most situations, an entirely accurate idea.” He tugged on Maedhros’ hair lightly.

"I--well--but you're injured," Maedhros protested. "And I like taking care of you." He kissed Fingon as he walked them to their room. There was some trouble at the door, but soon he could lay Fingon on the bed. "Now wait here. I'll be back with your medicine," he said, going to the sitting room and returning quickly.

“Thanks.” Fingon took the medicine immediately, washing it down with large gulps from the glass of water on his bedside table. “Did you want to do anything after dinner or are you going to join me? I’m not sure I’ll be much good as company.”

Maedhros pulled the cup away before Fingon could finish it.  "Don't drink it all yet," he said. "I need to get you cleaned up first." He grinned at Fingon: "and if you think there is anything I would rather be doing, you don't know me very well."

Fingon shook his head. "Alright. Alright, I'd best get to the washroom, then. Ah--what do you think the best way to deal with this is?” He gestured to his back. “I could just sit up in the bath if it wasn't filled all the way, I suppose."

Maedhros paused. "Yes I think so. We just need to rinse you off, though I rather think this sling is a good idea," he said as he helped Fingon into the bathroom and off with his clothes as he filled the tub just a few inches with clean, hot water.

“Of course you do.” Fingon rolled his eyes as moved to grab soap and a soft cloth and place them at the edge of the bath. He tentatively stuck a foot in the bath and then stepped fully in, accepting Maedhros’ assistance as he sank down into the water. He let out an indecent groan as he settled. “This feels… incredible. Can I never leave?”

"Well, I suppose," Maedhros said, "though you'd then miss out on going to bed with me." He helped Fingon hold himself up as he washed him, careful to not wet the bandages. "I'll redo your hair to facilitate sleeping comfortably," he offered. "Does it hurt to lean against the bath like this?"

“Feels good. Though some of that will be the medication.” Fingon grabbed Maedhros’ hand before he could begin undoing the plaits. “Will you put my hair exactly like this another time? I know it was very beautiful, but I think everything else overshadowed your work today. And your gift, which is… a miracle of craftsmanship. Someday will you tell me how you created a metal like that?”

Maedhros smiled, kissing the hand over his. "But of course. And the method for making the wire is a simple one, it is just incredibly tedious." He shrugged.

“You’re too humble, melda,” Fingon said softly, and he turned his head for a kiss. “Hmm. I love this. Even if I’m injured at the moment, I love being with you. And before too long this will be gone and we can properly celebrate the family being decent and everyone knowing about the betrothal.”

"How I long for that," Maedhros said, and smiled shyly as he slid his arms around his warm, wet cousin. "And soon we're going to be married. I can't but think of this without a stupid smile fixing to my face and never leaving." He grinned, as if to illustrate this.

“Mhmm. It will be everything I ever wanted. Everything I never dared to think I’d have.” Fingon set his arm over Maedhros’, squeezing gently. “Tyë-melin, Russandol. I cannot wait. And I’m afraid we are doomed spend the next several months looking like a right pair of idiots, for I will not be able to stop smiling besottedly either.”

Maedhros laughed as he braided Fingon's hair for bed before helping his cousin from the bath, and dried him gently. "Do you want to wear anything to bed?"

“You.” Fingon glanced at Maedhros. “Not particularly--if you would lie close again, between you and the sheets I should be warm enough. And in your arms I’ll find all the comfort I need. Well, between your arms and grandfather’s medicine, I certainly will. Is there… is there anything you want or need for tonight? Do you have a preference how we lie?”

"I'll make sure we're both comfortable before you take the rest of your medicine," Maedhros assured him as he bore his cousin to bed. "And the door is safely locked," he confirmed after checking, stripping down to his breeches and crawling into bed. "Here. Medicine, and then water."

"My thanks, beloved," Fingon murmured. He took the medicine quickly, and drank the rest of the water with a sigh of satisfaction. "If you hold me, everything will be perfect. Only--please tell me if you are not comfortable, if how we are lying does not work for you. I wouldn't be offended--well, I'll only be offended if you are in discomfort because of me."

Maedhros laughed. "I can't believe you think I could be uncomfortable with you in my arms! Come here," he said, turning off the light and lying flat on his back with Fingon tucked into his side, on his side to protect his shoulder. "There. Now you tell me if my shoulder makes for an uncomfortable pillow."

"You're silly, arimeldanya." Fingon kissed his lover gently. "After all this time you're asking me that question? Lying on your arm or your shoulder while wrapped in your arms is the most comfortable I have ever been, and never have I slept so well as when you are beside me." Fingon wrapped his free arm around Maedhros' waist, and smiled at his cousin. "Tyë-melin. I know this day didn't turn out as either of us planned, but thank you so much for caring for me, for making it bearable and more than bearable, for taking control of the situation and getting me back with minimal damage… You are the best person I know, Russ. And it still amazes me that I am to marry you--that you wish to call me husband as much as I wish to give that title to you. Nanyë tyënya, tenn' ambar-metta." He snuggled close with a fond smile as his eyelids grew heavier.

Maedhros smiled in turn. "Tenn' ambar-metta," he agreed, rubbing the small of Fingon's back in soothing circles. "I will always enjoy a day with you, no matter how it's planned. Now sleep, melindo, let me watch over you and hold you and love you, and in the morning you will feel better, and I will be here." He hummed again, a variation on the tune from before, and didn't stop until Fingon's breath evened out in sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

Warmth, light, and the soft sound of Maedhros’ breathing woke Fingon. Soon these were accompanied by an ache that spread from his shoulder through the rest of his body, and a pounding inside his temple that was in time with their heartbeats. He took several deep breaths, and after gently shifting Maedhros’ arm from over him, he pushed himself up to grab the partially filled glass at the bedside table and drain it. He pressed the glass to his forehead and settled back as the pounding subsided.

Maedhros started awake feeling the warmth move from his side to see Fingon leaning pathetically over a glass of water. "Fin!" he said, quickly sliding in to help him. "You should have woken me," he reprimanded softly, scooping Fingon into his arms and setting about feeling his brow for sign of temperature and checking the bandages. The wound seemed to be healing nicely, but-- "Do you want more water? Are you hot?"

Fingon shifted and leaned against his lover, moving his back in a way he hadn’t dared yesterday and he let out a soft moan at how _pleasant_ it felt just to twist his back. “All is well, Russandol, I promise. I’m well--better than I expected, I mean. I’m sore but when I tried to move I could. And my head felt like someone was pounding a hammer in it when I woke, but that is subsiding.” He sought his cousin’s lips. “I just needed to move a little. I promise I would have woken you if I needed help. Did you sleep well?”

"I did--I slept far too soundly for you being hurt," he said, laying Fingon gently down. "Move carefully," he said, hovering. "Don't injure yourself, but stretching is good. And don't mind me fussing," he said, planting a kiss on Fingon's brow.

“I’m just glad we both slept--we aren’t quite in our usual positions because of my shoulder.” Fingon smiled up at him. “And I’ll be careful. I have every intention of regaining the full use of my body as quickly as possible.” Fingon stretched against his cousin and sighed happily as he snuggled closer. “Mara tuilë, Maitimo. Tyë-melin. Have I told you how much I love you today?” He pressed a kiss to his lover’s nose, and added quietly, “thank you for taking such good care of me.”

"Thank you for letting me," Maedhros smiled softly. "And I love you. You just tell me when you'd like to get up today. Otherwise we can stay here all day," he said, curling carefully around Fingon, their skin sliding together.

“Always tempting me,” Fingon softly accused. “I would stay in your arms forever if the situation permitted it. As for letting you, you are most welcome. I am yours as you are mine.” Fingon’s eyes slipped shut as Maedhros moved against him. “Love this,” he whispered. “You feel so… so _right_ against me. About today, though, I think with the arrow wound we’ll be forced to get up to let grandfather check it and we should probably let everyone see that I am well and it is healing and there is no lasting harm.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Just don’t let Turko and Irissë dump all the children back on you when we venture out.”

"Agreed," Maedhros said, and grinned: "but maybe not yet," and he kissed Fingon again. "We could have that quiet day in the library we wanted. And we might at least hint at our mothers any desires for the wedding. Though I confess I don't much care if they dress us in ridiculous costumes and serve only food I hate and have no wine at the reception, so long as the important bits get said and you are mine afterward."

A shiver raced down Fingon’s spine at the declaration, and he caught Maedhros’ lips with his own. “Of course,” he whispered. “It shall be as you say. And after the reception we shall ride out for our valley, and your presence shall be the most terrible tease all through the journey. So close, again, and yet so far. And after we get there… we will eat, of course, and wash the worst of the dirt from traveling off our skin. And then…” He smiled against his lover’s mouth, a slight flush rising in his cheeks and his eyes shining as he met Maedhros’ gaze.

"And then," Maedhros agreed, leaning in as if to kiss him before drawing back suddenly and with a giggle. "And then we had better stop, because I don't want to hurt you right now."

“Ruuussss!” Fingon whined. “You’re a tease beloved. A Horrible. Cruel. Tease.” He leaved forward to press a kiss to his lover with each word. He lay back against his lover for a minute, before tilting his head to look up at Maedhros. “Do you truly desire not to do anything right now? I’m not a complete invalid, arimeldanya. Though if all you wish to do is lie here a little longer, I would not be unhappy with that.”

"I--I know that," Maedhros said, slightly breathless, pupils slightly dilated. "But I would much prefer just to hold you than risk causing you further injury. I can gladly wait, knowing you are mine and will be mine. Patience," he whispered, barely touching their lips together.

"Patience," Fingon agreed. He nipped at Maedhros' bottom lip. "You're still a tease, though. As I promised earlier, I won't do anything that will cause myself harm. But if you expect me to spend days in your arms, with only the most innocent of touches... You test me sorely, melindo." He finished in a whisper, lips pressing petal soft kisses across his lover's face.

Maedhros grinned and blushed. "I desire your comfort and safety more than I desire you so--but I delight in caring for your needs. I am yours to command. But now, just rest?" He curled around Fingon, kissing him lightly, fingers playing over his skin.

"Mhmm. For now." Fingon yawned and tucked himself closer to Maedhros. "Just, please melda, wake me before the morning's passed entirely. We should be sociable and I think I'll want something for the pain before moving around too much." He wrapped an arm around his betrothed and closed his eyes. "Tyë-melin."

"I will. And I love you, too," Maedhros murmured, slotting their bodies together. He dozed for the next hour until a soft knock came at the door. Fingon appeared to be asleep, so Maedhros gently disentangled himself, making sure they both were decent before going to the door.

"Well, hullo!" he greeted young Angrod and Aegnor, who bore trays of food.

"Tyelko and Irissë made you breakfast!" Angrod said. "Because they're sorry."

"And also busy," Aegnor offered. "That's why we're bringing it."

Maedhros pushed the door open, motioning for them to be quiet while they set the trays down. "Why," he whispered, "or with what, are they busy?"

The boys giggled. "Ambarussa, mainly. Also Artanis is screaming because Irissë keeps brushing her hair too roughly."

Maedhros nodded. "Well, that will do it. Thank you for the food, and please give our thanks to the others. We will eat and dress and be out shortly, I think."

"Oh! Grandfather said to tell you, the little jar has more medicine, if Finno needs it," Angrod said carefully, as if making sure to remember everything.

“Russ?” Fingon called softly, sitting up with a groan. He winced, a hand going to his shoulder protectively. He blinked over at the door, and seeing the children he tried to sit straighter. “Oh. Hello, mara tuilë.” He nodded to each boy. “How are you both?”

"Good!" They replied on unison. Fingon shot a look at Maedhros, as the boys sounded in that moment eerily similar to the Ambarussa.

"Do you want to go help Tyelo and Rissë with the little ones?" Maedhros asked.

Angrod frowned. "Not...really?"

Maedhros had to stifle a laugh. "Maybe just rescue your sister, then? For me?" The boys looked skeptical. "I'll do her hair a bit later if you can't manage it. How's that?"

The boys nodded. "Okay!"

"Bye, Findekáno! Feel better!" Aegnor chirped as they ran out of the room.

Maedhros grinned as he locked the door again and brought the trays nearer to the bed.

"Breakfast in bed?" Fingon grinned. "Sounds nice. Especially if you join me and climb back under the sheets." He raised an eyebrow and nodded at the locked door. "Or were you thinking more than breakfast?" He waggled his eyebrows and laughed in earnest at Maedhros' half affectionate, half scandalized look. "Ah-- I might start with the medicine, though. Would you mind refilling my water while you're up?"

"I--" he stammered for a bit, "oh hush," he said, when it was clear Fingon was teasing him. "Breakfast in bed--and medicine yes. Hold still," he said as he refilled the glass of water. "Let me help you up," he said, easing Fingon into a sitting position and piling pillows behind him. "Here, what's the pain level? Do you want the whole thing? I don't want you embarrassing me again," he teased.

“Thanks. Half will do. It’s… not great, but not as bad as yesterday.” Fingon hunched marginally, though he was fairly certain Maedhros’ didn’t mean it. The memory lapses and vague memories of saying things he wouldn’t say were unsettling. “I’m sorry if you were embarrassed by me. If it’s a problem today, just as Turukáno or Irissë to give me a hand when I need it. Actually, please ask Irissë. She’ll be looking for an opportunity to get out of child care duties. She’ll get me somewhere private and she won’t mind anything I say.”

"Oh, Finno!" Maedhros almost laughed before he realized Fingon was serious. "I am _never_ embarrassed by you. I was only teasing," he said, sliding his arm around Fingon's middle and holding the cup up for him. "If it came to it, _I_ will take you someplace private and I won't mind anything you say _or_ do." He grinned and stole a kiss, searching Fingon's eyes for any sign of hurt.

Fingon leaned into the kiss, lips parting softly in invitation if Maedhros but accepted it. He turned his head and eyes down as Maedhros pulled back, drinking, and then setting the glass aside. "'m scared Russ," he admitted softly, pressing himself against his lover. "And I don't like it. That _hurt_ and I didn't know what would happen to me. And now… I don't like saying things without meaning to and not knowing what I've said and done." He fiddled with the edge of the sheet, and his words started to come faster and faster. "Perhaps some of its because my mind--and mouth--are already in a looser state now that I'm just so _relieved_ everyone knows and we don't have to hide but… I just want to go back to yesterday morning. Early in the morning, as we woke up. I want to do the day over, but differently. I _hate_ this."

"Oh, Fin!" Maedhros breathed, pulling Fingon against him as tears sprung to his eyes. Something wicked settled in the pit of his stomach, like fear or hatred or pain, but worse, because it was Fingon's pain. He suddenly hated everyone: his brother who knew better, his little cousins who didn't, the Valar who were supposedly all-powerful and could allow such a thing to happen. "Findekáno, I'm so sorry, my love. We _will_ do this day over. You will get better and we will have a thousand days like this. I will take such good care of you and you will be so relaxed and not have to worry about the smallest thing because we will be bonded and I will know your desires before you can voice them, and it will be the fulfillment of my everything to give them to you." He swallowed hard and planted a kiss on Fingon's brow, holding him gently but firmly. "Don't be scared," he pleaded, a whisper. "Do you want to go to Estë? Or you can drink all the medicine. I don't care what you say or in front of whom, and if you'd prefer we can stay in here all day. Let me care for you, Finno, tell me what you want, what you need, any little thing and I will give it to you if I can. You have only to name it. I love you, Findekáno. I love you so much and I don't want you to hurt. Tyë-melin, arimeldanya, melindo, Findekáno, my darling." He was brushing through Fingon's hair with his fingertips.

Fingon finished the medicine but he could not stop his eyes from watering and turned to press his face into the bedding, shaking his head and speaking with a muffled voice. “’m fine. I don’t want to go. And I don’t--I just want. I want this to be over. I want to be whole and with you. And I want to take care of you, too, Russ. I want to see to your every need, to give myself to you in every way. It’s not--you take such perfect care of me. You always take care of everyone. And I’m meant to ease your burden, not add to it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be like this. But I just… I don’t know. I can’t stand this. I don’t want to be hurt and I don’t want to be scared and I really wish I could stop making such a fool of myself in front of my betrothed.”

"Shh, shh," Maedhros said, heart hammering painfully in his chest as he pulled Fingon against it, soothing him. "You are no fool and nothing you could do could make me stop loving you. Your happiness and comfort ease my burdens, bring me happiness and comfort in turn. Go ahead: want. I will fill your wants or perish in the attempt. You will care for me another time. There will be time. I love you." He kissed Fingon's temple again.

“Sorry. Sorry. Forgive me, arimelda. I don’t--” he let out an emphatic, almost hysterical laugh, “I don’t know what came over me. Thank you. You are right, of course.” He tilted his head up to kiss Maedhros, then pushed back slightly, wiping at his eyes. “Shall we enjoy the breakfast we were so thoughtfully provided? And perhaps you can speak to me of… something--anything. Tell me about some new project you or someone in your family has started, or about what you want for the wedding ceremony, or what sort of ‘revenge’ you would like to have for yesterday’s ride when I am well again. Or about your latest linguistic study. Anything you would enjoy speaking about, I would love to hear about from you..”

Seeing and hearing Fingon relax, Maedhros still kept them together, kept them touching, as he pulled a tray over. "Well, I can talk about food," he said, sliding into pretending everything was all right, though he watched Fingon like a hawk for any further signs of distress. "Here, relax against me," he said, sliding behind Fingon so he had something to rest against. He rummaged through the tray, long arms reaching past Fingon. "Eggs, toast, porridge, mushrooms, tomatoes, potatoes, bacon, sausage--tea and juice--Tyelko and Irissë have done well. Does any of this appeal to you?"

Fingon’s breathing was evening out as he lay against his lover and felt his heartbeat and his breathing slow to match Maedhros’. “All of it? A sampler, perhaps. That way if different little ones helped a little with the cooking, I can tell them I tried and enjoyed whatever they made. Perhaps extra mushrooms and bacon, though?” He squeezed Maedhros’ arm. “And you’ll eat with me, right?”

"Of course. We will share--and there is another tray if we want more. Would you let me feed you? Or would you like to manage with your left?" he asked, pulling the food into Fingon's lap.

"Tell me if I jostle you," Maedhros said as he split a piece of bacon in two, feeding one to Fingon and eating the other half himself. "Oh, this is good," he continued, digging in for more. Fingon was holding a fork, but he had very little chance to use it, for Maedhros scooped up fried mushrooms next and held them to his lips, before going back for more for himself.

Fingon chewed contentedly and set down his fork, patting his lover’s thigh in thanks. Maedhros had been right the day before- he could read Fingon incredibly well. Better even then when they were younger. And if this was what being bonded would be like… Fingon swallowed and smiled in pleasure, squeezing just about Maedhros’ knee as he waited for his betrothed to decide what they would try next.

"I want to try the sausage, how about you?" Maedhros said, slicing two pieces, spearing one with his fork and one with his knife, so they each could try it at once. "Tea?" He paused now, setting his utensils down, and laid his hand over Fingon's stomach. "Feel all right? No nausea?"

“I’m well. Perhaps something to cut the grease next though.” The sausage was greasy, rich, and filling, and though it was delicious his body could not currently handle much. “Russ? Would you leave your hand there a minute? It feels nice.”

"I will until you tell me to move it," Maedhros said softly, kissing Fingon's hair. "Tea, then," he said, with his other hand pouring a cup and adding milk and sugar the way Fingon liked it. "Here," he offered, holding it up to his lover's lips.

“Mmm.” Fingon swallowed, and urged Maedhros to take a sip. “A new blend, I think. At least it’s one I have not tried before. Do you like it?” They continued in this manner, sampling eggs, toast and jam, bacon, and oatmeal and slowly working their way through the meal with Maedhros’ patient feeding while Fingon lay against him.

After breakfast (which they took their time on, and Maedhros finished most of it), they took a bath together and Maedhros dressed Fingon, re-wrapping his arm in a sling. Maedhros was just helping Fingon on with his shoes when a knock came at the door. Maedhros raised his eyebrows at Fingon questioningly before going to the door and opening it. "Mother! Aunt Anairë! Turukáno?" He smiled. "What are you all doing here?"

"The wedding planning party," Nerdanel said. "We were worried about Findekáno and came to take his mind off things. May we come in?"

Fingon pushed himself to his feet. “Mother, Aunt, Turyo. How are you all? We were actually just about to try and get out of this room for a little while- do you think we might be able to commandeer the use of one of the sitting rooms to discuss things?”

Nerdanel immediately nodded, though it was Turukáno who answered. “I’m sure even if they were all in use the others would understand. I’ll go secure a place for us.”

Fingon shot Maedhros a look, wondering if his brother was just eager to please, or if he was fleeing, escaping for as long as he could.

Maedhros smiled encouragingly at his cousin, holding him around his waist and by his arm. "I'm not treating you like an invalid, it's just an excuse to hold you close," Maedhros whispered in anticipation. He noticed now that his mother and Anairë's arms were full of bags and boxes and large notebooks and paper. "How long have you been planning this, truly?" he asked with a grin, "And let me take that bag, mother," he said, sliding one onto his shoulder before going back to holding Fingon.

“Since we realized the two of you would wind up together,” Nerdanel answered smugly.

“I wonder who realized that first,” Fingon muttered to his betrothed, “us, or them.”

“Are the two of you alright, or should we go ahead and send Turukáno back up?”

“We’ll be fine!” Fingon answered quickly. “Russ will give me a hand, and we can go find whatever sitting room has been claimed. In fact, why don’t we head out now, so the two of you can put down your loads.”

The group made their way to a sitting room, passing Finwe at one point who walked them along, and once they arrived, insisted on checking Fingon's shoulder, which he gave his seal of approval. "Continue as you are, Finno, and you'll soon be right. I'll send some more draught at lunchtime," he said, and waving, was gone.

Turukáno, ever eager and ever overachieving, had set up a board with a large slip of paper, on which he could take notes everyone could see. Anairë and Nerdanel laid their things out on the table. "Well, macro-to-micro? Or the other way around?" Nerdanel said. "I think the more interesting bits are the small things."

"Agreed," Anairë said: "let's start there. We were thinking of putting the both of you in gold and silver-white--both colors complement you both well, and they combine the more, ah, traditional wedding colors."

Maedhros, who sat on the couch curled around and behind Fingon, nodded. "I'm sure I have something in that--"

Their mothers laughed. "Oh, you'll be getting new robes," Nerdanel assured him.

“Do we get to help choose their design?” Fingon asked. “At the very least, we need something that will be comfortable for riding during or after the reception.” He glanced at Maedhros with a soft smile. “The place we’re heading after is quite a journey from there.”

“I think we’ll be able to work something out,” Anairë said, smiling as she watched her son and his betrothed sneaking glances as one another.

"I think we should wear each other's family colors, additionally. I could accent in blue and Findekáno in red." He would mention later he already had a gift in mind: a pendant in bronze and Fëanorian colors for Fingon to wear, in the design of something he himself might wear, a kind of mark of association or belonging. And he would like something similar from Fingon. "And I don't follow fashion trends as well as some of you so as long as it fits I leave the details to you."

“I’d like that,” Fingon agreed softly. “And, um, perhaps some sort of layers? Ones that we can remove in parts, that way we’ll avoid overheating while we ride. I’ll miss seeing you in red, though, Russandol. It becomes you.”

Anairë waved a hand at her son airily. “Maitimo wears red all the time, anyway. You’ll have your fill of him in that later- I doubt he’ll suddenly lose his fondness for the color when you’re married.”

Nerdanel merely shook her head at her sister-in-law’s antics. “If that is your wish, we will figure out the exact designs,” she told the boys with a smile. Turukáno carefully marked down the additional information.

"Now this is something you ought to talk over with your grandfather, but do we want a small, family wedding? Or a large one?" Nerdanel asked.

"Small," Maedhros said, before he looked to Fingon and backtracked. "I mean, not secret, but just to avoid...controversy?"

Fingon nodded in agreement, though for slightly different reasons. “We can have a public celebration or announcement later, if needed, but… I feel like this should be family. If that’s acceptable. Honestly, half of this family dislikes the stuffiness of formal events anyway--don’t look at me like that mother! You know it’s true.” Nerdanel, at least, was nodding in complete agreement just considering her own brood. “Something like grandfather’s party a couple of days ago would be nice--the children can run around to their pleasure, people of any age would be welcome to dance, there would be food whenever people wanted it, and opportunities to mingle, but without the formalities of court.” He shrugged, and linked his hand with Maedhros’. “That’s what I would like, if it is possible.”

"Agreed," Maedhros answered. "I would like that very much." Being able to enjoy something like grandfather's birthday without being almost sick with nervousness would be nice. He held Fingon closer. "What kind of cake, love?" he asked.

“With the Ambarussa attending? And Nerwen? And the rest of the younger ones?” He leaned against Maedhros and smiled up at him. “We’d best have at least two, maybe more. Perhaps a chocolate--no, make that a marbled one that the young ones, and some of the grown Eldar, would enjoy. And maybe something else a bit more... creative? What would you like? I bow to your culinary expertise.”

Maedhros shrugged. "Oh, dunno. I just thought you'd prefer chocolate. But yes, I imagine we'll need more than one. For the feast after, I think roast pheasant, vegetables, bread--we could have it catered, couldn't we, amil?"

"Yes, of course," Nerdanel agreed. "I thought you might want to supply recipes."

Maedhros chuckled: "Oh, mother, I haven't used a recipe since I was Caranthir's age. But I could jot a few things down I suppose." He mused. "Where should we have it? Here, at grandfather's? Should we be before the Trees?"

“Um… I don’t know,” Fingon said slowly. “I would very much like to see you before the light of the Trees, but that could also become far more public than the small wedding we described. And would have a bit of that stuffy formality.” He looked around the room for other opinions.

"I...I think we should have--I mean, I would like to ask Finwë to preside? As High King and our grandfather." The Valar usually presided over royal weddings, but--this was different, and he wanted it private. He felt, distantly, that the Valar might disapprove--well, Aulë wouldn't, but Manwe and Varda might. Námo definitely would.

His mother gave him a Look, and Anairë and Turgon looked away. "If that is what you wish," she said, sounding vaguely proud but trying not to pass judgment. "Findekáno, do you agree?"

“Of course.” Fingon tucked his head on Maedhros’ shoulder, slightly tired from the excitement of wedding planning, and he squeezed his betrothed’s hands. “Of course. I am yours as you are mine, Russandol. Your wishes are my own.” He fought back a yawn.

“What next?” He asked their mothers. There were any number of things to go over, and he had a feeling that weeks from now they would be suggesting alternatives and new ideas. In fact, Fingon had a horrifying vision of their wedding planners approaching this event exactly as Fëanor would approach a new project--with limitless thought, unbelievable precision, and no limit to how much time he spent on it. Given that Nerdanel was one of said planners lent credence to his thought, and he quickly tried to tuck himself into Maedhros’ side and expel the idea.

Maedhros continued to speak with them as far as minimum politeness required before excusing himself (and Fingon). Turgon seemed disappointed but their mothers cleared out quickly. Maedhros was just settling an exhausted-loooking Fingon on the couch to nap when there came another knock at the door:

"Oh, uncle," Maedhros said, equal parts relieved and concerned. "Findekáno was just going to take a nap..."

“Well, I’m glad the two of you aren’t overdoing things.” Fingolfin looked over at his son, curled up on the sofa before returning his attention to Maedhros. “Nelyo… you’ve been taking incredibly good care of my son, and I thank you for that. But I wonder if you might be persuaded to take a short break and let me take over? I’d like to talk to him, and now seems to be as good a time as any--provided I have a chance to speak with him before he falls asleep.”

"I--" Maedhros hesitated, looking to Fingon. He didn't _want_ to leave, but if Fingon's father needed to speak to him--and if Fingon wasn't worried about being alone with him--not that he should be, of course—

Fingon looked up when Maedhros failed to return to him. "Atar? Russ? What's going on?"

"I was just asking Nelyo if he wanted to take a short break; I would stay with you until he returned. Would that be acceptable?"

Fingon yawned and shrugged--he didn't mean to keep Maedhros cooped up all day, but he was already so tired. "Can I have a kiss first, Russ?" he asked quietly.

Maedhros grinned broadly, blushing hot, and in spite of his audience bent down to capture Fingon's lips in a gentle kiss. "I'll be back soon, all right?" he whispered, still smiling, and kissed Fingon again before getting to his feet. He nodded at his uncle, still blushing, and let himself out.

Fingolfin stared after his nephew for a few long seconds before turning to his son. "How you feeling, Findekáno?" he asked softly, and sat on the edge of the couch.

“Ah-- I am well, Atar. Grandfather’s pain medication is doing wonders, though it does leave me with brief memory lapses and less than perfect control over my thoughts and speech.” And that was an important reminder to get out there while he was still somewhat awake. Fingon shook his head. “I’m sure Irissë and Turko will be far more cautious in the future, and there will be no lasting damage. In truth, it could have been far worse. May I ask how the family has been this morning?”

Fingolfin rested his hand on his son's arm, far enough from the wound so as not to pain him. "They are well. Findis and her family left this morning, and Arafinwë will leave after lunch. Breakfast was uneventful, and--" here he grinned, "the only thing your mother will talk about is the wedding," he laughed. "She is very happy. As are we all. As I am--if you can believe it after my embarrassing behavior."

Fingon suppressed a flinch at the reminder, and twisted the corner of his mouth upward in an attempt at a smile. “I am glad they are well and regret being unable to spend much time with them yesterday and today. Yes, Amil was like that when she was here earlier. Russ and I were getting roped into planning. We are very grateful for your approval and joy.” The words were softly spoken and carefully chosen. They were not how Fingon spoke to family nor how he would talk to his father in the past about important topics-- be they the birth of his younger siblings or the latest adventurous exploration Fingon and Maedhros had been on.

Fingolfin paused, feeling a hurt settle in the pit of his stomach that he did not give fuel to. His son spoke tightly to him, even in pain and drugged. It felt as if he had lost Fingon wholly to Maedhros and his father--and it was his own fault--and also was not something he should even be angry about. "Finno--" he began, and huffed. "I know _why_ you are angry with me, and why you don't trust me. I know we always have not seen eye to eye on many things, and from this springs a mutual distrust: you did not trust me with the knowledge of your betrothal--and I only confirmed your concerns by not trusting you in turn, not trusting you as an adult. I am sorry."

Fingon blinked, and moved his hand to press against the couch. He counted silently, and on three levered himself up so that he was sitting up, facing his father, and managed this with only a small pained grimace. “We had grandfather’s approval. While not traditional, he is the family patriarch and that _was_ enough.” Fingon looked up to meet Fingolfin’s gaze. “You hit Russandol. I would much rather you had hit me. It would have hurt far less. He was so nervous. So determined to talk to you himself and prove he would take care of me. Everyone else thought he should have grandfather there to mediate. But he wanted to show you he'd do anything for me. I can’t--what would you have done if grandfather had struck mother hard enough to bruise when the two of you proudly announced your engagement?” He sighed and dropped his head. “You struck Russ, you grabbed at me, and you wouldn’t listen to any of us--to me or Russ or mother or uncle. If you had spent years studying how to hurt me you wouldn’t have found a better way.” Fingon shot his father quick look, ready to bolt (or make an attempt to) if he had angered his father significantly.

“If you are truly sorry, I am… we are very grateful that you changed your mind. And I-I _want_ to trust you.” Fingon blinked watery eyes, cursing himself silently. “But you were supposed to congratulate us and hold me and smile! Or at least listen and pretend to be supportive. Even uncle brought out a rare drink and was toasting us _minutes_ after walking in on us… in a way he never should have seen us that looked bad for me and far worse for his own son. And instead, when you found out, I was left sobbing in the hall, and uncle walked by. And you know what he did? He immediately stopped, and dropped his gift for grandfather, and held out his arms for me, and tucked me against him, and listened to me, and made sure I was alright.” His voice grew quiet and fond as he described Fëanor’s actions that night, before Fingolfin had come out. That was _your_ job, went unsaid. "Eldar aren't supposed to be afraid of their parents," he said sadly, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

Fingolfin went still, convicted if not overly surprised at his son's words. "No, they are not," he said, and laid a hand gently on Fingon's knee, glad when he did not flinch away. "My actions were born out of unjustified anger and fear, and there is no excuse for them. I can only promise you that I have seen the error of my ways, and deeply regret what I said and did--and thought. Of course I love you, and I love Nelyo as if he were already my own son. I am sorry you had to learn it in the matter that you did, but it is better you learn now rather than later that I am not perfect." He sighed. "If there is any way I can make it up to you, and to Maitimo, please tell me."

Fingon risked leaning forward slightly, letting his weight rest on his father as he continued to sit up. He let out a long, slow breath, and raised his eyes to meet his father’s. “It’s not a demand or an expectation; I’m not waiting to forgive you until you do something, but to be completely honest it will take time before I trust you again. But if you believe what you just said, about you and about Russ, perhaps you might consider convincing Russandol of that. He and I have stopped discussing it, but we seem to be stuck with very opposing viewpoints. You see, he thinks it’s his fault that you hit him and that he deserved to get hit.” Fingon swallowed and looked at his father, eyes defiant, waiting for Fingolfin to agree with Maedhros.

"I--" Fingolfin said, deeply saddened by this news, and hung his head. "I admit I let him think this--it was cowardly and cruel, but easier on me. It is clear that you chose well when you chose Maitimo. And in my rage and my foolishness I forgot that I trust him above all others with your safety and happiness. I knew better. Nothing he has ever done or will ever do should earn him the treatment I gave him." He sighed bitterly. "I should even have guessed, you know: your mother spoke correctly that it reflects negatively on me that I did not know how close you two had become, because it means I am not as involved in your life as I should be. I will speak to Nelyo. Then we can see about remedying the bond a father and son should have." He smiled tentatively.

Sighing in relief, Fingon leaned heavily against his father. "Thank you," he said quietly, but with great emotion. His eyes slid closed as he fought back a yawn, and he slid his arm around Fingolfin giving him a brief hug before retreating. "Could you ask Russ when I'm due for more medicine? My shoulder's--” he did yawn there, "-starting to ache."

"O-of course," Fingolfin said. "Would you like to rest now?" At Fingon's nod, he helped him to lie down, brushing his hair back from his face. "I love you, my son. And I am sorry you're hurt. I'll track down Maitimo and your medicine. Unless you would like me to stay?" he queried, not sure which reply he hoped to hear.

"You c'n stay, if you want. Russ promised to come back soon." Fingon curled up slightly, and gave his father a smile as his hair was tucked back. "Thank you. Love you, too." Even if I don't always like you. Fingon blinked up at Fingolfin as a thought occurred to him. "Oh. But you can leave, if meant you want to go-- Russ'll come find me."

Fingolfin smiled. "I would rather stay with you," he said, and laying his arm gently but protectively over his son, he waited as his slipped into sleep.

Maedhros arrived half an hour later, knocking softly and pushing the door open even softer. He bore a small vial. "How is he?" he whispered. "Am I interrupting anything?"

Fingolfin shook his head, and answered softly. "Findekáno is asleep, for the moment. He wanted to ask you about when he can take more medication for his shoulder--it was starting to ache again." He rubbed his hand gently along Fingon's lower back as he looked at Maedhros. "Maitimo, I was hoping to speak with you as well, if you are willing."

Finding Fingon looking visibly well, and visibly asleep, "Of course," he said, setting the vial down. "Ah, here?" he said, stepping to one side.

With a last stroke along Fingon’s back Fingolfin stood, leaning down to brush his lips against his firstborn’s brow, unsure when he would be able to do so again. Fingon had been exhausted and drugged--even if they began to heal their rift he doubted his son, while in his right mind, would allow him so close in the near future. “Perhaps we can move to another couch and sit?” Fingolfin gestured to a piece of furniture far enough away that they could speak, but still within sight of Fingon should he wake.

Maedhros nodded, following his uncle and sitting. "Was he all right? Did you get--ah, sorted--whatever it was you wanted to talk about?"

Fingolfin smiled sadly. “He was as well as possible, given the circumstances. But I believe it will take a great deal of time and effort to sort what we need to sort and get our relationship close to where it _should_ be. And I think you are well aware of that,” he added, not unkindly. “My son spent years hiding his betrothal from me-and I proved he was entirely correct in his concerns about telling me. I’ve spent the past two days doing a lot of thinking, and that is not the relationship I want with my sons- you included.” He reached out to take Maedhros’ hand in his own. “And, in that vein, I was hoping to speak with you.”

Maedhros blinked, partly in shock and partly in sympathy with the raw emotion in his uncle's voice. Fingon was his world, and he could not imagine not being right with him: he felt somewhat guilty to be in Fingon's good graces while Fingolfin was not. "O-of course, uncle," he said. "I am sorry we kept it from you--again. You speak of mutual mistrust, and we began it, and for that I apologize."

“No.” Fingolfin shook his head. “Your betrothed was aware of… faults of mine that existed before your betrothal and which caused a child of mine to fear his father. That is not your doing, nor blame be placed at Findekáno’s feet. Nelyafinwë Maitimo…” Fingolfin sighed, and then slid from the couch taking Maedhros’ free hand in his own as well, and kneeling at his nephew’s feet, looked up at him imploringly.

"Uncle!" Maedhros cried almost out loud. "Please--please don't--you should not--" he stammered, trying to pull Fingolfin to his feet.

Fingolfin shook his head, squeezing Maedhros’ hands. “Please,” he murmured softly. “Please sit. And I should. Nelyo, what I did to both of you was beyond contempt. And words cannot express how much I regret my behavior towards both of you. Striking or physically assaulting someone during an argument is in no way defensible, and I need you to understand that. Because even just now you seem keen to defend me, to take blame onto yourself and onto my son when you should not.” Fingolfin sighed, and looked down. “Nelyo it did not matter _what_ words you used to tell me of your betrothal. My response would have been the same. And I do not ask you forgiveness, for that was unforgivable of me, but I do offer you my most profuse apologies, and I swear I will be looking at my views and my actions far more closely in the future, and I will do my best to be more reflective and to ensure that I do not treat anyone in future as I treated you and Finno that night.”

He looked up at Maedhros, unsure how his nephew would react. But he had thought about parts of this conversation throughout the past night--Fingon’s concern only hastened it, and perhaps changed his emphasis slightly. In response to his obliviousness and cruelty before the best he could offer was complete truth, and trust in his nephew’s kindness--which he could admit Maedhros had always shown his family and his son- and Maedhros’ desire for unity.

Maedhros smiled as benevolently as he could, and, after only a moment's debate with himself, threw his arms around his uncle's neck and embraced him. "For my part I forgive you a thousand times over," he murmured into his shoulder. "I understand your reaction more than Findekáno, I think: for I too feel before I think when it comes to matters of Finno's safety and wellbeing. I think if I thought for a moment (rightly or wrongly, and like you, my love for Findekáno could easily cloud my judgment) that you were going to hurt Findekáno, I might strike you as well, though you are my beloved uncle." He pulled back and looked him in the eye. "And you can hardly be blamed for reacting hotly when nearly everyone in this family comes equipped with a temper," he added with a laugh.

Fingolfin smiled at him. “I am a selfish ner, and I will grab onto your forgiveness even if it is hardly deserved. Only, Nelyo--” he looked into Maedhros’ eyes and truly took the form of a plaintiff. “Please, please look after my son. Care for him, and keep him safe and comfortable and happy. He’s already yours, in almost every way, and that makes him your responsibility, more so than when you were young.” Fingolfin sounded nostalgic, and he grinned for a moment looking very much like an older version of Fingon. “You already know this, but I need to say it, so thank you for humoring me. He’ll follow where you lead Nelyo, so take care where you go. And though I offered it before, after a great deal of reflection, I offer you again my blessing in this union. Thank you for giving him your love, your time, your strength, your care. Make this marriage a happy one, and, should you ever have need, you will have another father in me.”

"Oh, uncle!" Maedhros cried, and flung his arms around Fingolfin again. "Thank you, thank you." After a moment he straightened, clasping his uncle's hands. "And now I must be selfish, for the love and care you ask me to give to Findekáno is motivated more by my love for him than by your word."

“Nelyo--the motivation matters not. All I ask is that you love him.” He squeezed Maedhros’ hands. “Thank you,” he whispered, and pulled Maedhros into another hug. “I don’t know what I can offer you that is not already available to you--but if you ever find yourself in need, I am at your disposal.” He touched Maedhros’ cheek gently, though the mark had completely healed. “I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t always shown it properly, but I do love you.”

"And I, you, and not least because you had a part in bringing about the Elda I love most," Maedhros replied.

“Russ? Atar?” Fingon had opened his eyes to see his lover and his father across the room, and began pushing himself up. “If everything alright?” He hissed as his shoulder twinged painfully, and he leaned his side against the back of the couch to try to remove any stress from his back.

"Easy--Finno!" Maedhros scolded, moving quickly to the other side of the room and pressing Fingon back to the couch. "Easy, easy," he said, brushing his fingers across Fingon's brow. "Did we wake you? Hush, go back to sleep."

“You didn’t wake me. At lease, I don’t think you did. I’ve-“ Fingon paused and yawned, covering his mouth before shaking his head to clear it. “I’ve been sleeping too much. Atar told me I’ve already missed half the family leaving--and you have too because you’ve been helping me.” Fingon winced. “I couldn’t sleep anyway right now. The shoulder hurts, but I’d prefer to go a bit longer without taking anything for it, if I can. When was I supposed to take the next dose, Russ?”

"As I understand it, you can take it whenever you wish. You could also take a small dose, now, especially if your shoulder hurts," he said with a small frown, disliking seeing his cousin in pain. He helped ease him into a more comfortable sitting position.

Fingon shook his head. “I don’t like what it does to me. And besides, how will I know how well I’m healing if I can’t feel anything? At the least a bit of pain should keep me from overworking it.” Fingon looked from Maedhros to Fingolfin. “Is everything alright?”

"Well, all right, if it means you'll stop fidgeting," Maedhros said with a grin. "And everything's fine, your father and I were just talking about how much we love you," he said, and in an open and tender moment, leaned forward to press their noses together, and laughed at his own antics.

“And I love you.” Fingon grinned at Maedhros, and then at his father, and then back at Maedhros. He ducked his head forward, catching his lover’s lips for a moment before pulling back with a smile. “What shall we get up to next, Russ? Or is it time to be heading to lunch?”

Fingolfin, who was grinning (and torn between embarrassment and pride at the sight of his son kissing his betrothed) at them, spoke up: "I think it is time for lunch. And if you wish to see the Arafinwions before they leave, now is the time to do it."

"That's where I went," Maedhros said. "Artanis' hair was unbound and needed seeing to. You should see what I did with it. On the count of three now, up," he said, helping Fingon to his feet.

“Thanks. To lunch, then. Will you walk with us, Atar?”

“Of course.” Fingolfin smiled at Fingon, barely hesitating. “Let me know if you need another pair of hands.” Fingon nodded his agreement, and the three began moving towards the dining area, soon hearing the cheerful sounds of a meal that had just started and the delighted squeals and shouts of the youngest members of the family.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time evening arrived Fingon felt as though he had put in a hard days work-- and this despite napping during both the evening and afternoon. He was moving less stiffly than before, however, and his mind felt clearer than it had since the accident. He smiled as he and Maedhros entered their quarters and he softly shut and locked the door behind them.

“I can’t believe how long the day has seemed… and yet, when I think back on it, we’ve had many days which have been busier and seemed shorter,” Fingon stated, unlacing his boots with one hand and toing them off.

"Here, let me help with that," Maedhros said, kneeling at his feet. "You are injured, remember. You should perhaps be bedridden. That you did so much today is remarkable."

“You flatter me. I’m fine though, Russ. I feel much better, already, and I can walk without looking stiff and unnatural.” Fingon ran his fingers through Maedhros’ hair with a soft sigh and heat began to rise in him at the sight of his lover kneeling at his feet.

Maedhros turned his head to kiss the palm of Fingon's hand. "Shall we get ready for bed? Do you feel like another bath?"

“That sounds perfect. Could you check my back first though?” Fingon began loosening his shirt. “From what grandfather said earlier, the wound may already be sealed… in which case we can have a real bath.” Fingon’s eyes slid half shut in pleasure at the though of a real bath--which in his mind constituted more than six inches of water and having Maedhros in it with him. He silently hoped Maedhros would find what he expected on his shoulder--even though his muscles would still be healing, just having the skin in one piece would be helpful.

Maedhros frowned skeptically, but as he peered beneath the bandages--barely dotted with blood--he found to his surprise that the wound had closed. "Ah, Finno!" he said. "Why, the skin is sealed. It's still inflamed, though. But I think we could risk a bath."

Fingon made a pleased noise, immediately heading for the bathroom. “You coming?” he called back, stepping into the washroom and turning on the hot water. He pulled out soap and a wash cloth and towels, delighting in the freedom of movement he had recently regained. He left his trousers on, however, and eventually leaned against the wall as he waited for the bath to fill.

"Hey, wait, wait!" Maedhros grumped, following after him. "Kindly leave that to me. No wonder you're exhausted," he said, only mostly joking. He undressed himself mostly and then moved to help Fingon. "Here, also, you should sit," he said, producing a footstool.

“As you wish.” Fingon tapped his foot, though, as he sat, waiting impatiently for the bath to fill. “There--that’s enough water to start, surely? Were you going to climb in first or shall I?”

Maedhros dumped some relaxing oils into the bath and slipped in behind Fingon, their skin sliding together beautifully. "Mm, this feels good," he mused. "Are you all right?" The bath was deep, and once it filled it would cover to their chins. "Hopefully this will ease any pain in your shoulder." He could hardly believe that this was the same Fingon who had been brought to tears by the pain he was in only this morning. He wrapped his arms around Fingon's middle carefully and just held him, grateful to be where he was.

“Mhmm. Better with you behind me. Valar, Russ. It’s been days and yet…” Fingon trailed off, shaking his head. “Feels wonderful. And the hot water does wonders. Are you- are you comfortable like this, or do you need me to move a little? I was about to start washing- that way when the tub is full we can just relax and soak.”

"Oh--I can help. I am always comfortable with your skin against mine," he said, and picked up soap and a cloth. "Do you want me to wash your hair? Or shall I just braid it tonight?"

“Would you? I would love for you to wash it. Maybe as much as you enjoy playing with it,” Fingon teased. “If you are willing to see to my back and hair, I’ll deal with my front. And if you want I can help with your back and hair too?” Fingon grabbed a second bar of soap, quickly lathering his arms and chest.

"Thank you, but I can manage--I really don't want you straining yourself. Unless--we'll see, perhaps if I sink low enough so you don't have to lift your arm very high." Careful to keep the soap out of his eyes (as careful as he ever washed any of the children) Maedhros wet and lathered Fingon's hair with fine-smelling soaps before rinsing it all away. "There, how does that feel?" he asked, also giving his back a run-down (especially washing away the sticky salves).

“Glorious,” Fingon moaned, shifting in the tub. He brought the hand opposite his wound behind him, tracing the skin above where the arrow had entered. He shook his head and slid back against Maedhros. “I feel like a new Elda. Now for you… what can I do for you melda?”

"Mm, just lean against me like this for a few moments," Maedhros said, eyes sliding almost shut. "I'm still debating whether I want to wash my hair." Extending his leg, he turned the faucet off with his foot. "I am glad you are feeling better. You are, right? Feeling better?"

Fingon nodded. “Much better, I promise. I’m feeling like myself again, Russ.” Fingon sighed. “Since you washed my hair, would it do any harm to do your own? You could do it quickly, and then we’d both be clean everywhere.” He shrugged a shoulder, as he didn’t truly mind either way.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Maedhros said, and slid under the water briefly before popping up spluttering. "Stay," he said as Fingon made to move. "I like feeling you against me." He washed his hair quickly, Fingon's back plastered to his chest, and then dipped under the water again.

The tub was almost filled when Maedhros finished his hair, and Fingon shifted against him, settling back with a sigh. He felt Maedhros twitch under him, and his lips curved upward. “I like this. I could stay here for hours,” he murmured.

"Mm," Maedhros said, so very much in love he could almost ignore the pool of lust rearing its ugly head inside him--and he was ashamed of it, for Fingon was in no condition. "Me as well. I am so glad you are feeling better. Do you think you'll want any more medicine tonight?"

“Maybe just before we fall asleep. But I might try to fall asleep without it first.” He ran a hand through the water absently. “Could we leave it on the bedside table so it’s there if needed?” Maedhros nodded against the back of his head, and Fingon’s mouth curved in a small, pleased smile. He ran his wet fingers up Maedhros’ arm, playing over the skin as he thought. “Perhaps if I’m quite tired and, ah, my body’s ready for sleep, we can just avoid that.” He shifted, which caused his hips to grind back slightly against Maedhros. “Do you need something, arimeldanya?” he asked teasingly, a smile in his voice.

Maedhros shifted uncomfortably. "Er, no?" He said. "Stop that. You're hurt. We shouldn't do anything too strenuous." He wrapped his arms around Fingon's chest, trying to still him.

Fingon linked their fingers together and turned to kiss Maedhros. "Not strenuous," he murmured. "Everything's soft and warm and gentle, remember?" He leaned back against Maedhros, pressing them together from neck to hips. "You won't hurt me, melda."

"I don't--I can't risk hurting you," Maedhros stammered. "I mean, I could--I could bring you to pleasure, before we go to sleep. We could be careful with that. And it might help you rest."

"Mmm. That would be nice." Fingon guided their joined hands lower, presenting Maedhros with proof that his body was just as interested in their current situation as his lover's was and grinning as he felt Maedhros react. "But I don't think I could rest without knowing you were taken care of too. Now or later, we'll have to find pleasure together." He knocked the back of his head against Maedhros' shoulder. "And you won't hurt me. You never hurt me."

Maedhros frowned noncommittally. "We'll see," he said, unsure if he could even dredge up much desire seeing Fingon like this--though--knowing Fingon... He leaned forward and nipped lightly at his collar bone, playing his fingers along Fingon's sex. "Do you want to wait until we're in bed?"

"I..." Fingon fell silent, stroking Maedhros' arm as he thought. "I just want _you_ , Russ. I could care less where. I want you play--oh! Playing with my hora, and even more than I want that I want to watch you come apart under my touch. Want to bring you pleasure and feel you relax afterwards, muscles loosened and ready to fall asleep yourself." He grabbed his lover's hand and kissed it gently. "I think I miss that the most arimeldanya," he said softly.

"It's only been a few days," Maedhros huffed, though he had missed it, too, of course. And now--well--he was notoriously weak-willed when it came to Fingon. "All right, gently. Let's get into bed first and _let me help you_ or we won't get to anything fun tonight!" It was a cheap tactic, borne of bribing good behavior out of six little brothers, but he felt it was justified here, as he helped Fingon out of the bath and dried him off.

Fingon stood patiently and he let Maedhros dry him and guide them. "Hair first, then bed?" he suggested quietly. He turned as Maedhros dried himself off, and and taking a smaller towel began to carefully wring out Maedhros' hair. "How is it that you grow more beautiful every time I see you?" Fingon asked fondly, watching beads of water slowly meander down his lover's back. He enjoyed the quiet moment, just _being_ with Russ without thinking about being wounded, or his father's reaction, or worrying about the future or about having done something wrong. "This is nice," he added quietly as Maedhros secured a towel around his waist.

Maedhros grinned and pushed Fingon into a low seat, and knelt behind him to braid his hair for bed. "And you, just when I think you won't grow any more handsome and strong, you surprise me." He pressed a kiss to Fingon's warm, moist neck. "And oh, how I desire you." But he pulled back and began wrapping Fingon's shoulder into its former sling. "I will be both your hands," Maedhros said in response to protest. "Indulge me, or I will just worry about you the more. Please?"

Fingon turned and pressed their cheeks together as Maedhros finished with his arm. "'m not sure I could deny you anything, melda." He matched Maedhros' smile with one of his own, and relaxed where he sat. "I love you- have I told you that today? I live you so very, very much." He touched his lover as a thought occurred to him. "The gold wires you made me--may I wear them for the wedding? They'll match our gold and silver raiment. And I would like to be adorned with your craft."

"Oh!" Maedhros blushed. "Well, of course! Though I was thinking of making you something else, but--but yes." He smiled shyly, and stood and bound his hair into a knot at the top of his head. "Now," he said, and scooped Fingon up in his arms, carrying him to bed and laying him gently down.

"I would gladly wear anything else you would like me to," Fingon replied. "Even several things of your make--I would be pleased to act as a model and show off your skill." He grinned at Maedhros from his place on the bed. "Will you join me, my prince? I would have your body over mine, and my desire for you is ever growing."

Maedhros crawled up over the top of Fingon, grinning. "Mm, don't say that," he whispered. "Don't say that you would wear anything else I would like you too--such things shoul only happen between us after we are married." Winking, Maedhros surged downward to kiss Fingon firmly but gently, his lips and tongue focusing on skill rather than speed or force, and he drank his lover in as the sweetest wine. "Now don't move, remember. I will take care of you. Don't strain yourself, and don't move your shoulder."

"Mhmm. Aaaah-- oh! Russ! I promise." Fingon moaned against him, cradling Maedhros' head with one arm. "Betrothed... What you do to me. Valar, Russ- my body is singing for you! Love this. Love you." He trembled from his lover's kiss, amazed at what Russ could do with lips and tongue alone. He tugged at Maedhros' hair to get his attention. "But you must let me care for you also, or else I swear I will not get a minute's sleep this night."

"All right, all right," Maedhros cooed, bracing himself on one elbow and taking Fingon's left hand, placed it on his own sex. "You can touch me here, just with your hand. I promise I won't need much coaxing. And as for you," he slicked his palm and rubbed over Fingon's groin, skin sliding against skin as he kissed Fingon again on the lips.

Fingon keened at the first touch of Maedhros' hand on his arousal, suddenly desperate for this. It had not, in truth, been long and yet Fingon felt as he did when first coming together with Maedhros after weeks apart. "Thank you," he whispered against Maedhros' lips, sliding his hand gratefully over Maedhros. After a moment he squeezed him gently and released him. Pulling on his lover's hair to move his head back, Fingon brought his hand to his own mouth, wetting it thoroughly and whimpering, nostrils flared, as he scented his betrothed on it.

"Ohh, that looks so beautiful. Your lips look so lovely like that, sucking on your fingers, sucking on--well, just about anything," he admitted with a smile, and when Fingon was done with his own fingers, Maedhros stuck his hand in his mouth, watching dizzily as Fingon's lips closed around his fingers. "Now, tell me, you want my fingers inside you?" he asked softly, leaning in close and kissing his brow, but not moving his hand out of Fingon's mouth.

Nodding slightly, Fingon hummed a pleased note around Maedhros' fingers. His eyes begged his lover as he curled his hand around Russ, squeezing lovingly before beginning a slow, steady movement with his hand.

"Good, good, that's my boy," Maedhros said, pumping his fingers in and out of Fingon's mouth to coat them liberally with saliva. "I thought so. Knew you wanted it. Now you can't move, remember, don't want you hurting yourself. Going to be a good boy for me?" he murmured, breath hitching slightly as Fingon milked him.

"Mhmmm." Fingon answered as best he could without releasing Maedhros' fingers, moaning around them as he forced his hips to lie still. He tracked teasing paths across Maedhros' desire with his fingers, dropping lower to cup and roll his sac before returning to a gentle grip, stroking in time with the thrusts of Maedhros' fingers. He watched his lover with eyes hazy with desire, willing Maedhros to see his pleasure, his happiness, his contentment in this moment. And in his mind he chanted praises of Maedhros interspersed with declarations of love and devotion and dreams of being wed to this incredible Elda, beautiful inside and out.

Maedhros smiled, his heart bursting with love for Fingon, and withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his mouth and drinking in a kiss as his hand slid between Fingon's legs, palm rubbing at his balls while his fingers teased at his entrance. "Oh, you're so fresh and clean and soft," he whispered, grinning and giggling, and-- "Oohh, and good with your hand." He pressed his spit-slicked fingers against the tight ring of muscle: "And soon, this will be entirely mine."

"Yes. Yours. And you will be mine. I can hardly bear waiting. Want you to take me and make me yours when we are wed. I want you deep inside me. Want to hold you warm and safe in my center." Fingon shivered, squeezing Maedhros as his flesh jumped at his lover's teasing touches. "I want you to fill me. To claim me with your seed deep inside, where nothing has touched me before. I want to squeeze you and hold you as though I never wish to let you go--for I would hold you to me happily, in my arms and within my hröa, for as long as you allow it." He kissed Maedhros, trying desperately to keep still. "Please, please love--please put your fingers inside me."

"I will, I will," Maedhros promised. "Patience, I don't want to hurt you. I will take care of you. No teasing, just gentle," he said, pressing his fingers in and out, spitting on them himself when they got too dry. "And when we are bonded, there is no place I would rather be." He kissed Fingon again and pressed a finger inside, seeking out that spot that made him see stars.

Fingon threw his head back, teeth worrying his lower lip. When Maedhros finally breeched him, his hand on his lover stilled. "Russ." Fingon whimpered. "Please, melda, if you're not teasing, please more. Oh! Feels... so good. Need this, need you. Oh Valar, Russ! Last time we did this I had your mouth there!" Fingon's eyes slid shut and he moaned in remembrance, increasing the speed of his hand on Maedhros. He blinked his eyes open and tilted his head up for a kiss.

Maedhros dipped his head to kiss Fingon, a sloppy, wet, sliding movement that was entirely graceless but incredibly needy. "I've got you, I've got you," Maedhros said, sliding his finger in and out, battering against the nerves inside him, holding him still as he keened. "Hold still, my beloved, I--I've got you. I love you. I love you, can you come for me? What do you need?"

"You," Fingon said. "Just you. I'm staying still for you, but would you press down, arimelda? I wish to feel your skin on mine ev-everywhere I can." Fingon tensed in desire, catching Maedhros' mouth with his own. "Close, melda. I'm so close. Are you... Is this good for you?"

"Yes, yes," Maedhros huffed, "I was hoping you would say that, because I am, I'm so close. You being so good for me makes me very happy, Finno," he panted, mouthing along the side of his neck. "So I will give you whatever you want." And he lay against Fingon as much as he could without hindering their movement or putting undue weight on his shoulder. "How's this, my love?" he asked, and pressed against Fingon's spot inside him. "Can you come for me, melindo?"

Fingon keened and bit his lip roughly until Maedhros claimed his mouth with his own. Hips rising in small movements, Fingon thrust himself back onto his cousins hand. Wrapping one leg around Maedhros', he held His lover tightly and spent, eyes fluttering closed though his hand never ceased its attentive movements on Maedhros, stuttering over his lover as Fingon moaned and came.

Driven to distraction by the sights and sounds of Fingon coming apart in his arms, Maedhros shook, and spent, squeaking as he clamped down on a cry and pressed his face into Fingon's hair. He lay there, panting, his strength all but spent as he clung tightly to Fingon. He withdrew his fingers gently, and ran his hand up Fingon's body, smearing their mingled seed into his skin. "Let me get a cloth to clean us up, love," he said, unhooking Fingon's leg from the back of his legs, "I'll be right back." He kissed his brow and got up, running quickly to the washroom and returning with a warm, wet cloth.

Fingon gave pleased, wordless murmurs as the cloth brushed over his skin. He reached out, though, eager for his cousin to rest beside him again. "Russ," he murmured when his cousin had disposed if the cloth and rejoined him. "Oh my Russ, thank you. That was perfect and beautiful and exactly what I needed. It wasn't stressful at all, and I think I shall sleep better for having done that with you." Fingon carded his fingers through Maedhros' hair with a smile. "Love you. And it is my dearest wish in this moment that you enjoyed that even half as much as I did. That you for listening to me earlier and giving me this."

Maedhros smiled, nuzzling against Fingon's cheek. "No, thank _you_ , Findekáno," he whispered, pulling a blanket over them and tangling their limbs together safely and comfortably. "I love you so much. The least of you is the best for me. Do not fear for my enjoyment--for you are everything I could ever enjoy. Can you rest now, arimeldanya? Do you want some water? Your medicine?"

"I'm..." Fingon stopped and reflected for a minute. "I think in good," he finally stated with a smile. "Maybe a couple sips of water? And then I'm ready to sleep if you are." He yawned. "'M comf't'ble."

Maedhros reached across to the bedside table and helped Fingon take a drink. He swallowed some water himself before returning the glass, and then tucked them in properly again. "Wake me if you need medicine, or if you're in too much pain." He kissed Fingon's brow. "I love you. Sleep well, betrothed."

"You as well," Fingon murmured, kissing his lover and settling against him. "I love you, Russandol. Goodnight." His eyes slipped shut as he squeezed Maedhros once and felt their breathing synchronize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends the last episode in the 'finds out' arc!
> 
> The first chapter of our Maedhros and Fingon wedding (and honeymoon) fic, A House United, is posted. You can read the next part of the story there, beginning with pre-wedding craziness, shenanigans, and jitters. ;)


End file.
